


Sinners and Serpents

by gthgrlxo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Multi, Slow Burn, and fred and george are only a year older than you/ ron, because its the best trope, best friends brother, character is female but no definite physical appearance, characters are aged up, golden trio+ you are a year older than canon, possible nsfw, so the four of you are only a yearish younger than fred and george, sort of enemies to lovers, y/n not used
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 113,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27013180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gthgrlxo/pseuds/gthgrlxo
Summary: Being Ron Weasley's best friend was fantastic, but being Ron Weasley's best friend and a Slytherin caused a lot of problems, especially where George was concerned.
Relationships: George Weasley/ Reader, George Weasley/You, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley
Comments: 268
Kudos: 441





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! so so excited about this fic because i adore the weasleys, and there needs to be more weasley appreciation. i have a malfoyxreader fic that's currently in progress, so if you want, please check that out! updates might be a bit slow for now, as school is busy, but i will update at the very least once a week. enjoy and i always love hearing feedback!

“Oi, Ron! Your little friend is here!” George’s voice bellowed from the sitting room as you walked in and shut the door behind you, the bustle of the Burrow around you messily familiar as you took in the piles of books and yarn and the old wooden table that decorated the dining portion of the kitchen. The smell of breakfast still lingered in the air, even though the sun was approaching it’s noon position. Slipping off your shoes, you rounded the corner into the sitting room, where Fred and George were bent over the coffee table, a wide array of odd treats and bottles spread out before them, the old couches soft and plush and worn by time and frequent use. 

“Ah, look who it is,” Fred said, looking up at me. “Our brother’s precious Slytherin friend. Hex anyone just for fun on your way over?” He asked, his voice full of spite.

Ever since your second year at Hogwarts when the twins had found out you were a Slytherin, you had been the target of an endless barrage of jokes and pranks and snarky comments. It used to bother you, but since it had happened so much over the years, you had gotten used to it, and their words no longer stung like they used to. It did annoy you that they only seemed to hate you because you were a Slytherin, but that was another thing you had gotten used to over the years at Hogwarts as well. Some of your housemates were...less than lovely, but the same could be said for all the Houses.

You rolled your eyes, used to their jabs after having been best friends with Ron for the past five years. “No, you git. You send anyone to the hospital because of your little inventions again?”

Fred and George’s freckled faces bloomed red. “That only happened once,” George said. “He’s fine now,” Fred chimed in, grinning cheekily at you and scooping up their little experiments.

Over the summer, the two of them had grown quite a bit, and as they stood to take their things upstairs, they now towered over you by a good six inches. Their previously comically lanky bodies had filled out at well, no doubt as a result from the countless summer days of playing Quidditch out back with Ron and Ginny. Their hair was still red as fire, and their freckles, as usual, had multiplied from being out in the bright sun so often, but they had both begun to grown bits of ginger stubble on their jaws, signifying just how much they had grown up in the three months since you had seen them. Their short sleeved shirts showed off the toned muscle of their shoulders and arms, and you noticed faintly that George’s shirt was just a bit tighter around his shoulders than Fred’s. 

Heavy footsteps bounded down the rickety stairs, and you turned just in time to see Ron barreling toward you, scooping you up in a massive, tight bear hug and swinging you around, making you squeal. 

“Look, Georgie,” Fred began, nudging his twin as Ron set you down.

“Our two little lovebugs,” George added in a singsong voice. 

“Sod off, both of you,” Ron snapped at them. “Don’t you have something to go blow up?”

The two of them had been teasing you and Ron about being in love since you had been thirteen, and over the course of the four years since, the two of you had both separately entertained the idea, but Ron was far too good of a friend for you to ever jeopardize that, and if that hadn’t been the deciding factor, Ron’s crush that had been growing ever since the Yule Ball on Hermione would’ve been. 

“Excellent idea, Won-Won!” George exclaimed, and as they retreated up the stairs, you and Ron shared an exasperated look before he hugged you once more. You smiled at your closest friend, having missed him dearly over the holiday break, his familiar scent of spiced sandalwood warming your chest with a feeling of home.

“It’s so good to see you,” You said, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. 

“You too! I’ve been going crazy being stuck with those two all summer,” Ron said, before motioning you to follow him upstairs. “Mum’s had to put out three separate fires in their room just in the past month alone. They won’t tell anybody what they’ve been inventing, not even Ginny.”

We climbed the creaky staircase up to the top floor of the Burrow’s leaning frame. “Speaking of which, since school only starts in a few days, you’re sharing Ginny’s room. That alright?” Ron asked as we reached the top of the steps. 

You smiled brightly at him. “Of course! I’m just happy to be here. I missed all of you terribly, even the two evil geniuses,” You joked. 

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes. “Luckily, this is their last year at Hogwarts, which means hopefully they’ll move out after they graduate. I think Mum and Dad will both have aneurysms if they stay here any longer than that.”

You laughed loudly as Ron swung open Ginny’s door after a light knock with no answer. There was no redheaded girl in sight and her room was covered in Quidditch posters and clothes were strewn haphazardly over the floor, her trunk lying open and half-packed in the corner. You set your bag down next to her bed, your trunk having already been sent ahead of you to the Burrow a week ago, and you plopped down on the bed, sighing in comfort. 

“Don’t get too comfy,” Ron said, looking out Ginny’s window at the fields beyond. “Once Harry gets here, we’re going to play a match. Ginny and I are sick of playing with Fred and George. I swear those two gits can read each other’s minds or something.”

Just then, the two redheads in question popped their heads into Ginny’s open door. “Did someone say Quidditch?” George asked.

“I hope you two are ready to lose,” Fred said, looking at you and Ron both. 

You snorted. “As far as I recall, Slytherin beat Gryffindor last year, and pretty badly, too.” You shot a smug smile at the twins as they glared angrily at you, not entirely jokingly.

Fred rolled his eyes and George shook his head. “A tragedy of epic proportions, but it shall not happen again!” Fred declared with a finger in the air, and Ron and you laughed at his dramatics. 

The twins disappeared to wherever they got off to in their spare time, and Ron left you to unpack before Harry arrived, the raven-haired boy showing up right as Mrs. Weasley was starting dinner, which gave the six of you enough time to play a quick game of Quidditch before you ate. As the group of six walked out, you and Harry chatted softly, having missed the other since June. The two of you weren’t as close as you and Ron, but Harry was still one of your dearest friends. 

The summer air was hot and muggy, even as the sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, and there was a bit of disagreement on how to split up the teams, before it was decided that it would be Fred, Ron, and Ginny against you, Harry, and Fred. You and Harry shared sly looks, both thinking that your team was ridiculously overpowered, but choosing not to mention it, because what would be the fun in that? 

You all shot into the sky as Fred shouted that the match had begun, and you reveled in the feeling of the air brushing quickly against your skin as your Nimbus 2001 flew you up. Harry and you had nicer brooms, while the Weasleys had hand-me-down ones, but you and Harry had always switched off using your own brooms, letting your friends ride often enough that they knew how to handle them. 

In your usual position as Chaser, Fred chucked the Quaffle to you as Harry searched for the makeshift Snitch, Ginny following his lead. Ron and George were facing you as Chasers, the position of Beater often forgotten in your pickup games, and any Chasers doubling as Keepers as the need arose. You and Fred seemed to move easily in tandem after years of playing pickup games, and soon your team was pulling ahead quite quickly. The games weren’t incredibly skilled, but they were always fun, even as George raced past you thirty minutes into the match, knocking into your broom, causing the tail end to buck wildly.

You struggled to gain control, but it was a lost cause, and thankfully you weren’t far from the ground, more worried about the impact on your broom than your own body. You had begged your parents for months for your Nimbus, and you knew if it broke, it would be a long while before you got it replaced. The ground was soft, the dirt loose and warm, but the impact still knocked the breath out of you slightly and your broom next to you, the metal by the end of it scraping your forehead as it hit the ground, making you gasp for air as everyone landed quickly and circled you. Ginny punched George in the arm roughly. 

“You idiot!” She chastised him. 

George held up his hands in defense. “Hey! It was an accident! Look, she’s fine!” 

Everyone’s eyes turned to you as you struggled to breath on the ground. You had gotten the breath knocked out of you a fair amount of times just playing Quidditch, so it wasn’t new, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. 

“Fucking git. She’s bleeding,” Ron said, shaking his head. 

George rolled his eyes, his large hand extending out to help you up. You lifted an arm and grabbed his hand, the new size of it engulfing yours as he pulled you up. Holding in a whimper, you forced out a pained grin. 

“See? Just fine,” You said through slightly gritted teeth, gripping your side as your rib protested slightly. Putting a hand to your temple, you noticed you indeed were bleeding from an inch-long cut near your hairline. 

“God, George, look at the poor girl! I mean, points for knocking down a Slytherin, but Mum’s not going to be pleased,” Fred joked, earning a hit to the shoulder from Harry, and you rolled your eyes. 

Fred then tilted his head to the side, putting his finger up to his chin as if he was thinking. “Anyone else thing she looks like Harry now?” Harry shoved Fred with his shoulder roughly and Fred cackled. 

“George, you take her to the bathroom and get her cleaned up, and the rest of us will put everything away,” Harry directed, leading the others away to put back the brooms and balls. 

George offered you his arm, and you walked back to the Burrow together, limping slightly as pain bit at your side. The walk up the stairs wasn’t much more pleasant, and the warmth of the slowly drying blood on the side of your face itched. 

You walked into the little space, sitting yourself on the closed seat of the toilet. Following you into the small bathroom, George turned, opened the mirror above the sink and pulled out a first aid kit, muttering to himself that in a few months he wouldn’t have to bother with all this stupid, non-magical stuff. You had forgotten that, at almost exactly a year older than you, the twins would soon be considered adults in the Wizarding world. As he searched, you watched his newly-developed muscles shift under his sweat-soaked shirt with a flush of embarrassment. 

“It’s really okay,” You said as George pulled out a small bandage and some antiseptic. “It’s just a little cut.”

“If I don’t patch it up, Mum’s gonna have my ass for beating you up,” George replied. “It’s not a big deal.” 

You shrugged, sitting still on the counter ledge you had sat on after walking in. George turned to you, placing a bandage down next to you on the edge of the tub. Grabbing your jaw roughly and turning your face to the side, making you scowl at him, he examined your minor wound that was dripping a steady stream of blood as head wounds had a tendency to do. 

“Not even that deep. So fucking stupid,” He muttered to himself, wetting a corner of a clean rag with rubbing alcohol and lifting it to your face. “This is gonna sting.”

You braced yourself, ready for the sting, but you weren’t ready for the way that George softly brushed your wild hair out of the way, tucking it behind your ear and leaving his hand at the back of your neck to keep your head still. You bit the inside of your cheek, and before you could process the feel of his warm touch, a burning sensation pulsed from your forehead as George not so gently rubbed at your cut, trying to get the dried blood off and clean out the jagged wound. 

“Merlin’s beard, George,” You hissed, trying to pull away, but his hand held you steady. “Be a little softer!”

George grimaced, though you knew he had probably done it on purpose. “Don’t be such a baby,” He shot back. “If you hadn’t fell--”

“If I hadn’t fell?” You interrupted him. “You mean if you hadn’t knocked me off my broom?”

George’s rich brown eyes met yours, annoyance simmering in their warmth. “You call yourself a good Quidditch player. Maybe you should learn to stay on your broom,” He remarked, pulling the cloth away and reaching for the bandage. 

You huffed, irked by his words. “Whatever. You’re just angry I beat you so badly last year.”

George scoffed in disbelief. “Why would I be angry that your team beat mine? It’s not like you do anything to make them better.”

“I’m one of the best on Slytherin, and you know it,” You shot back as he stuck the plaster roughly onto your cut. 

“Must have a piss-poor team then.”

“You’re insufferable,” You stated, crossing your arms as he threw away the wrapper. 

“Same goes for you, _Scales_ ,” George growled, his use of his and Fred’s nickname they had given you in your second year that they had ever so cleverly thought of after finding out their brother’s best friend was a Slytherin, making you clench your teeth angrily. You both glared at each other for a moment, hatred swimming between you. 

Just then, thankfully, Mrs. Weasley called that it was time for dinner, and you and George exited the bathroom. Making sure to sit as far away from him as possible, you delighted in the warm, aromatic spread in front of you, and you and your second family dug in, eating until everyone felt as though they were going to burst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this is a short chapter, but the rest will definitely be longer! i just wanted to get this posted as soon as i could!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy<3

The rest of your short time at the Burrow was spent helping Mrs. Weasley cook, playing Quidditch until your arms were so sore you couldn’t lift them, and eating your fair share of amazing food. Since your first day there, George had avoided you religiously, but you couldn’t care less; that just meant less time being annoyed by his antics. The morning that you all were leaving for Hogwarts was filled with shouts and thuds and hastily packed lunches, Mrs. Weasley shoving everyone out the door with kisses and food, calling after them to behave, or else. 

The six of you pushed through the wall at King’s Cross, the bustling Muggles around you far too busy to notice the lot of teenagers disappearing through a supposedly solid brick wall. Just barely making it to the train, you, Harry, and Ron sat down heavily in one of the last empty compartments, Ginny having spotted her newest love interest, Dean Thomas, and Fred and George had disappeared practically the moment they got to Platform 9 ¾. As the train began chugging, Hermione opened the compartment door, and Harry, Ron, and you met her entrance with beaming smiles and tight hugs. 

We each recounted our summers to the group, Harry’s having been the most interesting by far. He had spent three weeks with Sirius at Grimmauld Place, having told the Dursleys that he was going on a solitary trip up north, though they probably wouldn’t have noticed him being gone if he hadn’t said anything. The rest of us hadn’t seen Sirius, or any of the Order, for over a year, and you found yourself often missing the dark, grim house that was tucked into seemingly thin air. 

After we had all shared our holidays, Hermione had asked about the cut that had faded to a thin, rosy line on your forehead, and Ron jumped in, whining about how terrible and awful Fred and George were. 

“Seriously. You’d think they’d let up by now! We’ve been friends for so long,” Ron complained, picking at the lunch Mrs. Weasley had packed him. “They’re so stuck up.”

“I mean, to be fair,” You began, a bite of food crowded in your mouth. “You do hate most Slytherins just because they’re Slytherins.”

Ron balked in indignation. “That is not true. They just all happen to be gits,” He said, making laughter erupt from our group. 

“Even me?” You asked jokingly. 

“C’mon, don’t be ridiculous,” Harry chimed in. “You’re far better than any of those snobby, rich little elitists.” 

Ron nodded. “See, that’s why we became friends. You can’t even really tell you’re a Slytherin.”

You knew his words were meant to be comforting, but you felt slightly offended as he continued about the large amount of “right foul gits” in Slytherin. You, for all its flaws and stereotypes, loved your House dearly and loved what it truly stood for: cunning, leadership, and self-preservation. Ron, to be fair, did have a point that a large group of Slytherin students were quite awful sometimes, but still, you wouldn’t want to be in any other House, not really. 

As the train passed through the green countryside, you decided to try and find your Slytherin friends and maybe grab a treat from the trolley, telling the trio goodbye before exiting the compartment. Walking through the train corridor, someone opened up a compartment door right as you passed and walked out, knocking you to the ground. 

Standing up and whirling around to tell the idiot off, your face broke into a grin instead when you saw the familiar face of your close friend, Evangeline. 

“Ever watch where you’re going?” Eva laughed, pulling you into a hug, before turning back to enter the door behind her. “I was just about to come and find you!”

Walking into the compartment after her, you saw all of your closest Slytherin friends lining the seats. Dorian was nearest to you, his curly black hair silky even in the dim train lights. He was another Chaser on your House Quidditch team, and though the two of you had a tendency to butt heads, you were excellent teammates and even better friends. Next to him was Bram, who was a year younger than all of you, but was wicked smart and had helped you out with schoolwork on more than one occasion. Across from them sat Briar, her long, dark hair cascading down her back almost to her waist. She was beautiful, and deceivingly so, because no one would ever guess she was Slytherin’s most aggressive Beater in the past century. They all called out greetings, and you responded, taking a seat between Bram and Dorian, feeling right at home with your second group of friends. 

“So where were you?” Dorian asked, reaching over you to grab a sweet from Bram, who shot him a dirty look. 

You laughed softly at the exchange. “Sitting with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I stayed at the Burrow for a few days, since my parents left early on their trip.”

“Fred and George give you any trouble?” Briar asked, following Dorian and sneaking a treat from Bram. 

Your friends knew about Fred and George’s little vendetta against you, mostly because they often were on the receiving end of their nasty tricks along with you. More than once, we had all been cursed or hexed or tripped or hurt in some manner by the twins. 

You nodded, picking a ruby-colored candy from Bram’s collection, who sighed exasperatedly. “Sure, why don’t you all help yourselves,” He muttered sourly. 

“We were playing a pickup game in the field behind the Burrow, and George fucking knocked me off my broom!” You recounted. “Knocked the breath clean out of me, and I got a pretty decent cut, right here,” You said, pushing back your hair and tracing the line with a fingertip. 

“Fucking foul gits,” Dorian said, looking at the healed injury. “Really, why is you being a Slytherin such a huge deal to them? You’re a wonderful girl.” 

You looked down before the rosy blush could show on your cheeks. You had always had just the smallest crush on Dorian, but he had placed you solidly in the friendzone a while ago after a rather risque drunk encounter, much to your past self’s dismay. Now, you merely entertained the thought from time to time, but you knew nothing would ever come of it. It just felt comforting to have someone to project your attention onto sometimes. 

The train continued its winding journey through the countryside, you and your friends chatting casually about whatever came to mind as the sun set, lighting the sky with vivid oranges and pinks. By the time the Hogwarts Express arrived, the sky was a midnight blue, silver stars freckling its seemingly infinite expanse. 

Donning your black and green school attire, the five of you ambled off the train and made the journey to Hogwarts’ front doors, the Forbidden Forest alive with the chirps of bugs and birds and the obligatory occasionally eerie noise. Thankfully for your growling stomach, the Sorting went quickly, only a few new students joining Slytherin’s ranks. You felt sorry for them, almost, because you knew the next seven years would be full of other Houses looking down their noses at them, even if they hadn’t done anything wrong. Dumbledore also announced a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher: a stout little woman with entirely too much pink on. So much pink, in fact, that when Eva saw her, she made a gagging noise that caused quite a few students from our table and the Ravenclaw table next to us snicker. 

Dinner was warm and rich and entirely too much, and as you finished your second helping, you felt like you might burst. Everyone in the Great Hall was tired and stuffed and ready for another year full of magic and fun, so slowly, the students waddled out of the Hall, quietly chattering. 

You forgot that as a prefect this year, you got your own dorm and access to the prefect’s bathroom, and after saying goodnight to your friends, you made your way to your private dormitory. You had conveniently forgotten to mention to Ron and Harry and Hermione that you had been chosen to be prefect, because you knew it would only invite more antagonization from Ron’s ridiculous brothers. You were proud, though. It had been difficult at first at Hogwarts, but you felt like you had found your place among the students, and you had worked hard for your grades and your standing. The same couldn’t be said for many of the students at the school. 

Having unpacked your trunk, you decided to take a hot shower before you went to sleep, the soreness in your ribs having been aggravated by the long train ride. The water was wonderfully hot, nearly scalding, just as you preferred, and after you got dressed again, your damp hair smelling strongly of jasmine and citrus, you left the bathroom. 

And immediately ran into Fred and George, who were carrying a large trunk between them. 

They both stopped abruptly. “Now, Georgie,” Fred began, scanning you up and down, his eyes pausing on your dripping hair. “Isn’t that the prefect’s bathroom?”

“Why, yes, Fred, I believe it is,” George answered, the two of them dropping the trunk with a loud, dense _thud_ , a small bang coming from inside as it hit the ground.

“So that would mean…”

“That our little Scales is a prefect this year!” George finished, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “Well, that, or she’s already shagged some snotty prefect the first night back. And it was shower sex, too. How adventurous,” He said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, looking you up and down subtly, searching, you were sure, for any giveaways of a steamy encounter.

A hot flush spread across your face. “I was _not_ shagging up with anyone, you bastards. Not that it’s any of your business,” You retorted, your wet hair making you shiver as the cold night air brushed against you. In fact, you hadn’t been with someone like that since early last year; you had had a short time frame of hookups with a seventh-year Ravenclaw who had honestly not been terrible. He had just been so _emotional_ , always wanting to talk and define the relationship. You honestly had gotten bored within a few weeks. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you were a prefect? Mum would’ve made a whole fuss about it,” George said, ruffling his ginger hair with his long fingers. 

“Remember when Ron got his letter? Poor Mum nearly burst into tears,” Fred said, sighing morosely. “Must’ve been so disappointing to finally have two sons not be stuck up little pricks, and then find out her youngest boy would follow in Prissy Percy’s footsteps.” 

“Or she was just happy Ron wasn’t a pyromaniac like the pair of you,” You shot back, pulling your black jacket tighter around you as you shivered. “Some of us actually _try_ in school.” 

George patted Fred on the back sadly. “Yes, and we’ll forever make fun of Ron for that. And you as well now!” He said gleefully. 

“Pricks,” You murmured, trying to walk past them, but George grabbed your arm before you could make it very far, causing you to spin around. 

“That isn’t very nice,” He chastised, Fred tutting softly at you. 

“Let me go,” You said, annoyance lacing your words. 

“Ah, yes. That. Well, not until you promise not to tell anyone what you saw tonight,” Fred told you. 

You glanced at the heavy trunk. “What, not tell anyone about that thing?” 

George nodded. “You see, it’s our last year here, and we’d thought we’d go out with a...bang, one might say,” He informed you, earning a snort from Fred. 

You rolled your eyes, not wanting any part of whatever new antic they were cooking up this time. “Okay, yeah, whatever. Just leave me alone.” 

Fred and George both shook their heads as George let go of you and they hefted the trunk back off the floor, groaning with the effort. “No way, Scales. What would we do without these lovely interactions of ours?” George asked as the two of them sauntered off, leaving you alone in the hallway.

\-------------------

The next morning, classes began, and you dragged your tired body reluctantly out of bed, due to the banging on your door from Briar, yelling at you to “get your lazy ass out of bed, or I’m not going to block the next Bludger that comes your way”. Sighing, you pulled on your uniform and twirled your hair into a low bun, pulling out strands to frame your face. Whipping open the door, you found Briar and Draco Malfoy practically nose to nose. 

At the sound of your door opening, Malfoy whirled to face you, his pale eyes glaring at you. “Tell your stupid little friend that she’d better shut the fuck up, or-”

“Or, what, Malfoy?” You asked, cutting him off. “You’ll tell? How scary. Shove off.” 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know if I’d speak like that to a Prefect, you bitch.”

“Join the club, asshole,” You responded lightly, flashing your badge at him that you had just tucked in your pants pocket. 

You grabbed Briar’s arm and hauled her off, leaving Malfoy behind still fuming, his face twisted with angry shock. Once the two of you were out of ear shot, you spoke to her. 

“Really, Briar? It’s the first day of term. Can we _please_ not get into it with Malfoy so early on?” You asked, exasperated. 

Briar rolled her eyes, her black hair swaying as she walked. “Sorry, he’s just such a massive dick. It’s hard not to, especially when he’s practically asking for it.” 

You shook your head, exiting the dungeon and entering the first floor of the castle. “Is it worth his stupid little tantrums though?” 

Briar grinned at you devilishly. “Yes. Absolutely without a doubt, it is _so_ worth it.” 

You snorted at her, shoving her lightly as the two of you walked through the massive doors of the Great Hall, the room filled with tired, hungry students chattering softly. You looked around for your non-Slytherin friends, but didn’t spot any of them, so you sat with Dorian and Bram, who said that Eva had still been sleeping like the dead when they had left. The four of you exchanged schedules, and after realizing most of your lessons weren’t with your friends, your excitement to start the school year diminished a little bit. 

Dorian looked at you sympathetically. “It’s alright. I know it’ll be hard, but I swear you’ll survive without me,” He joked, earning a blow to the shoulder from you that made him pout rather dramatically. 

“I know it isn’t the end of the world,” You said, picking a grape off your plate and popping it in your mouth. “But that means most of my lessons are most likely with Gryffindor, and some of them are just downright idiots.”

“Hope you aren’t including me in that,” Ron’s still-sleepy voice spoke from behind you. 

You tilted your head back, sticking your tongue out at him. “‘Course not, git. Just your brothers, mostly. And most of the boys your age.” 

Ron grinned back at you, offering pleasant hellos to your friends sitting at the table. He was familiar with them, having met them numerous times over the years, but he wasn’t close with any of them. You didn’t mind that fact, though; keeping your friend groups separate was a blessing in disguise most of the time, because if you were in a row with one, you could always just escape to the other, though that hadn’t happened often. 

Asking for your schedule, Ron revealed, to your elation, that you had three classes with him: Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration. Ron left with a hug to you and a farewell to the rest of your friends, and the four of you finished breakfast, the hall slowly emptying as students started making their way to their classes. All sixth years had an incredible amount of free time, and Dorian was going on and on about how much extra Quidditch he could get in, but you knew that he was being far too optimistic. From sixth years in the past, you knew that this year was going to be just as difficult, if not more, as your previous year. 

Your friends departed for their respective classes, and you made your way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, curious about the mysterious new professor that had been brought in. Of course, new teachers weren’t anything unusual, especially in this department. Professor Lupin had been your favorite, even before you knew he was in the Order. He had just been so passionate about his job, and had helped you out of more than one tough spot your third year. You had a sneaking suspicion that you and Harry were his favorites, as the two of you had been able to cast corporeal Patronouses as little third-years, but you would never tell anyone that. 

Joining the stream of students entering Professor Umbridge’s class, you nearly hurled at the horrific amount of _pink_ that was everywhere. _Everywhere_. The walls, the decor, the photos of purring kittens, and her entire wardrobe, including a frilly, lace brooch pinned to the front of her garish magenta outfit. Even her face was painted with a sparkling pink rogue and lipstick. 

Spotting Eva, she waved you over to her table against the right wall of the classroom. Her eyes already had a wild glint in them, and you held back a smile at the comments you knew she was going to whisper in your ear about Umbridge all year long. 

“Merlin’s beard, this place is enough to make me sick,” Eva said as you sat down and pulled out your wand. 

You wrinkled your nose in agreement. “Pink is fine, but in this amount? I think I might go blind just so that I don’t have to look at this all year.”

Eva snorted, but quickly composed herself, noticing Umbridge standing in the front of the classroom. The little woman surveyed the sea of students, a haughty look on her pinched face. 

Some students were still whispering, so she cleared her throat with a little _eh-hem_ , making them turn towards her and stop talking. 

Smiling patronizingly, she clasped her hands together. “Wonderful. I am Professor Umbridge,” She began, her voice high and shrill, and as she spoke, the chalkboard behind her began writing out her name in looped cursive. “Now, in the past, your education has been...less than adequate, and even grossly inappropriate at times. Cornelius---excuse me, the Minister,” You looked at Eva, miming an obscene motion at her that implied a rather inappropriate relationship between Umbridge and the Minister of Magic and making her choke on a laugh, “Has personally assigned me to ensure that you receive the best education possible without any...unfortunate or unnecessary interferences.”

She smiled at us again, and something about her disposition made you very uneasy. It was only made worse when a few students began pulling out their wands. 

“Oh, there will be no need for that, class. We must start with the remedial basics. Wands away, please, and pull out your textbook, _Defense Against the Dark Arts: Basics and Principles_.”

A murmur ran through the class, but she made a tutting noise, quieting the dissent, and began the most boring and horrible lesson you had ever experienced in your five previous years at Hogwarts. The lesson ended, and everyone practically ran out of there to escape the stuffy, heavily perfumed environment. Eva and you looked at each other, your expressions both horrified and humored. 

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that will be my least favorite class this year,” You decided, pulling your hair away from your face. “What a fucking nightmare.”

Eva nodded her agreement. “I think I’ve decided that pink is the evilest color ever invented, and quite frankly, I think that anyone who uses that much of it should be...arrested or something,” She declared. 

The rest of the day passed with ease, your temporary unfilled free time a welcome joy that you spent talking with Ron as the two of you sat in the green summer grass by the lake. Being with Ron was easy, comfortable, and that’s why the two of you had stayed so close over the years, even with all the prejudices and meddlesome family members that tried to get in the way. Dinner came, and you opted to sit with Ron, Harry, and Hermione since you hadn’t seen them during the day besides Ron, catching up about classes and complaining about Umbridge’s insanity. 

“I mean, how the hell are we supposed to learn anything if we can’t even practice?” Harry asked, loading his plate with a large amount of food, causing you and Hermione to share a humorous look. “How is reading a book going to teach us anything?” 

Hermione shot him an exasperated glare, but didn’t say anything. You nodded in agreement, taking a sip of your pumpkin juice. “She’s absolutely abysmal. I can’t believe Dumbledore actually took her on this year.”

“I dunno,” said Harry. “Seemed like he didn’t entirely have a choice; the Ministry has started taking control of a lot of things since last year.”

Since Voldemort returned. None of you said it, but you knew that’s what was on everyone’s minds. 

After dinner, Ron and Harry invited you, Dorian, and Briar to play in a little pickup Quidditch game in celebration of the first day back at Hogwarts. The three of you readily agreed, rushing back to your dorms to don warmer sweaters and thicker pants to fight off the wind that tended to get rather brisk at night, especially while flying. 

You were the last to arrive, the group circled up in the middle of the pitch. Harry waved you over, and everyone teemed with excitement as the game could finally begin. The group consisted of Harry, Ron, Briar, Dorian, Fred, George, Ginny, Dean Thomas, Cho Chang, and two other students you recognized, but didn’t know well enough to put names to their faces. They, as usual, all circled around the youngest, who was a fourth-year Gryffindor, and he closed his eyes, spinning until he handed on two people to be the captains. You grinned as you were picked, and you became even more excited as George was selected as the other captain, itching to shut him up a little with a good win. 

You first picked Dorian, to Harry’s disappointment, and George picked Ginny, because almost immediately after they started these pickup games, Fred and George had been banned from playing on the same team, due to some rather unfortunate mishaps with a younger student on the opposing team. Next, you chose Harry, and George, Briar, and so on until the teams were divided into You, Harry, Dorian, Dean Thomas, and Fred, and George with the rest. 

It was unusual to have so many players, but that only made the game better, and after getting situated, you all shot into the evening sky, the sun beginning to dip down beneath the horizon. It felt so good to be flying as a whole team again, even if it wasn’t your House team, and you and Dorian fell into a natural rhythm that you had developed over the years of playing together. The two of you were a nearly unbeatable match, and with pride blossoming in your chest as you touched down at the game’s end, you saw that your team had beat George’s by quite a large margin. 

As the group rested from their hour or so of vigorous playing, jokes and laughter and smiles being tossed around, you sat next to Dorian, laying your head on his shoulder as you listened to Dean Thomas recount that he had already had a rather terrifying encounter with Snape on the first day back. The night was getting chilly, the wind biting at your nose, and Dorian noticed you shivering, so he wrapped his arm around you, huddling you close in a purely platonic manner. You nestled into him as you looked out at your friends, and as you sat, you noticed George looking at you. 

Not just looking at you, no. _Glaring_. 

You looked away quickly from him, feeling anger and slight embarassment rise in you. What the hell did he have to be annoyed about? You had beaten him, sure, but he had beaten you plenty of times in the past, as much as you hated to admit it, and besides, it was all just fun and games. He didn’t have to take it so personally. 

The night grew dark and frigid, so you all packed up and headed off to your respective dorms. Briar and Dorian walked with you as the group split up. 

“What a game,” Dorian said, smiling. “It’s good to be back.” 

Briar rolled her eyes. “Totally unfair that I had to play with a bunch of Gryffindors and Chang, and you two got to be all buddy-buddy and kick our asses,” She grumbled, though the smile in her eyes told you that she wasn’t really upset. “Chang is such a horrid player, really. It's a shame she even made the Ravenclaw team, though they don’t seem to have much talent to pick from to begin with.”

“I dunno,” You said. “Cho isn’t really all that bad. I just can’t stand the lovey gazes she tosses at Harry when she thinks no one is looking. She looks like a lost puppy.”

Dorian snorted. “She’s so obvious, it’s almost sad. Harry’s thicker than a rock when it comes to that sort of stuff.”

Dorian wasn’t wrong, to be fair, though you still shoved him lightly in defense of your friend. The three of you made it to the dungeon, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, and hugging Dorian and Briar goodnight, the three of you went to your rooms, tired after such a wonderful game.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up, there's a tiny bit of pg-13 stuff in this chapter, but nothing super graphic (yet) enjoy! <3

The next few weeks passed in a whirlwind of classes, homework, and Quidditch practice, the latter having kicked your ass every single night for the past five days. Slytherin’s captain, Adrian Pucey, had been drilling your team every practice until one or more of you nearly collapsed from exhaustion. You had had perpetually sore muscles for more days that you could count, but nothing could really take away from the freeing feeling of the cold air whipping through your hair as you flew. 

It was finally the first Hogsmeade weekend, and all the students were teeming with excitement, looking forward to the promise of warm butterbeer and sweets and a break from the ridiculously grueling curriculum that Hogwarts sported. Friday came to an end, and the student body quickly dispersed to their Houses, wanting to get ready as quickly as possible to make sure they got their fair share of time in the quaint little village. You and Briar were going together, Eva having met some seventh-year Hufflepuff who had predictably fallen head over heels for her the moment she gave him the tiniest amount of attention like most boys at the school did, and the two of them were going on a sort of informal date. 

As Eva had told you two about him while the three of you got ready in your dormitory, you and Briar had exchanged good-natured eyerolls at Eva’s antics, though you couldn’t blame her for jumping at the chance to get some action; you had found yourself wanting to mess around with someone, just to relieve some stress and have some fun. Whether or not the professors knew it, the Hogwarts student population was quite the promiscuous crowd, due to the long periods of time that they only saw each other, as well as the fact that they were still teenagers even if they were witches and wizards. 

Eva was dressed in a tight grey sweater that hugged her curves and brought out the warm amber in her eyes, her hair curled loosely and left alone after that. Briar, in her usual black on black, wore an oversized black jacket with jeans and boots, her long hair twisted into a relaxed updo. Your friends had always been the ones to really get the most attention, though you hadn’t done terribly in years past. The three of you stuck together, encouraging outings with boys or girls, but always making sure that no stupid decisions were made, because between you three, there had been an ample amount of rather unwise situations that seemed to follow you. 

You wore a comfortable dark green sweater and black pants, dressed slightly more for comfort than for style for this particular outing, though you had always loved the way that particular top fell on your frame. With kisses on your and Briar’s cheeks, Eva bid the two of you goodbye, ready to go on her pseudo-date with her little Hufflepuff, and Briar urged you to get going, wanting to get to the Three Broomsticks before all the seats were taken. You set off, the fall air fresh around you as you walked, the leaves just beginning to turn their brilliant autumn shades of yellow and gold and burgundy. 

The walk was long, but you enjoyed the fresh air, and soon the autumnal smells of Hogsmeade began floating around you as you walked up the path, the scent of pumpkin and spiced ale and cinnamon making you take a deep breath as you smiled contently. It seemed as though all the other students were just as excited as you were to be out of Hogwarts and free of studying for even a few hours. Briar led you towards the Three Broomsticks, the inside bustling with students and adults alike, and you spotted the last empty table in the corner, rushing to claim it before anyone else. 

As you sat, two Slytherins in your year, Zachariah Silver and Theodore Knott approached the table, full of their usual swagger and ego. Silver, who played with you and Briar on the House Quidditch team last year, was rather tall, making you have to tilt your head back to look at him while he spoke. His brown hair was shaggier this year than it normally was, but you found yourself enjoying the way it curled around his ears and at the nape of his neck, and you could see his shoulders tense with muscle even through his thick sweater. Knott was not as tall as his companion, with black hair and dark circles under his eyes. 

“The two of you look like you could use some company,” Silver said, taking his time to look the two of you up and down very slowly. 

You glanced over at Briar, who gave you a small shrug, as if to say,  _ why not? _ “Well, I guess you’d better pull up some chairs, then,” You said, smiling sweetly at Silver, knowing that Briar was far more into boys like Knott: boys who look like they hadn’t slept in weeks with dark eyes and darker smiles. You preferred them a bit more muscular, and as Silver and Knott pulled chairs over, you let yourself admire the way the former’s jacket hugged his strong frame. 

“So, what are you two up to this weekend?” Knott asked, leaning back in his chair. 

Briar shrugged. “Just enjoying the break from homework. Classes are ridiculous this year.”

Silver and Knott nodded in agreement. “From what I’ve heard, though,” Silver began, his eyes meeting yours, “You haven’t had nearly as much trouble as the rest of us. I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard our professors go on about you,” He said, sending you a rather impressed look. 

Your face warmed a bit, and you tried to act like you didn’t care, though hearing your teachers though you were doing well made you swell with pride. “School’s just always been easy for me, you know?” 

Briar laughed, a low, sweet sound. “She’s being modest. This girl is so smart, it’s ridiculous. I swear she doesn’t even have to try most of the time.”

You shot her a look, but she shot you right back that seemed to say,  _ I’m helping you, go with it! _

Zachariah looked at you once more. “Maybe you could help me with homework some time, then. It’d be an honor to study with the smartest Slytherin we’ve got,” He said, a glimmer in his deep eyes. 

“Better not let Malfoy hear that. He’d probably hex you until you couldn’t walk,” Knott joked, picking a bit of bread off the basket in the middle. 

The conversation continued for a while, the four of you talking amicably, until Briar claimed that she wanted to go to Honeyduke’s to get some sweets. You nearly laughed out loud at that, because you knew how much Briar despised candy, but you held it in, wanting some alone time with the handsome boy sitting next to you. Briar practically pulled Knott out of the restaurant, but he didn’t seem to mind, his eyes tracing her figure as she walked ahead of him. Zachariah led the way out of the Three Broomsticks, the fresh fall air greeting you as you stepped out of the door. 

Walking a few steps of the doorway, Zachariah turned to you. “Anywhere you’d like to go?” 

You shrugged gently, smiling at him. “I’m up for anything.” 

Zachariah’s answering grin was enough to light a fire in your core, and he grabbed your hand, his large palm encasing yours. Leading the way, he brought you to the group of trees that lay behind the back of the street of shops, the leaves all brilliant shades of gold and red. It was utterly quiet other than the occasional chirp of birds and rustle of the trees in the soft wind, and you leaned your head back, taking in the wonderful weather. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” He asked softly. You nodded, taking in the thicket of trees in all their fall glory.

Zachariah looked you up and down once again, making you blush slightly. “You know, I’ve had my eye on you for quite a while,” He said, tugging on the hand he was still holding to pull you in close, the spicy scent of his cologne rich and warm, and you almost wanted to take a deep breath to pull more of it in. 

Looking up at his blue eyes, you said, “Is that so?” 

Zachariah grinned. “Oh, absolutely. Since middle of last year, actually. It was after the game against Hufflepuff, the one where you shot that insane goal from midfield. You wore that green top and I could barely take my eyes off you. Most of the guys couldn’t either,” He told you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

You remembered that top; so did a seventh year Slytherin, on the floor of his dormitory. “I’ll have to remember that,” You responded with a slow smile, placing a hand on his chest and moving forward so that your torsos were nearly brushing each other.

Moving his hand to rest on your waist, he began moving his thumb in slow circles over your hip bone. “That bastard was a lucky guy,” Zachariah said lowly, referring to the boy you had hooked up with that night. 

He tugged on your hip, moving you so that your front was pressed against his, and you had to tilt your head back to look at him. Your heart was racing a bit; not because you actually  _ liked _ Zachariah, though he seemed nice enough. No, it was because it had been far too long, and you were anxious to be so close with someone. You weren’t really one for relationships in the first place, no matter who it was. Lifting a hand to cup your cheek, Zachariah seemed to pause for a moment, and after you nodded your head softly, he pressed his lips to yours gently. 

His lips were smooth, warm, and you nearly sighed as he pressed into you, his frame overshadowing yours. He tasted of spices and pumpkin, a purely delicious taste, and you leaned into his motions. The hand that had been on your hip slid to support the middle of your back, and he deepened the kiss, making you emit a soft sound as he nipped your bottom lip lightly with his teeth. The sound you made seem to encourage the boy, and he backed you up until you hit the bark of an oak tree behind you, the wood digging slightly into your back, but you didn’t mind a single bit as he moved his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, carding his thick fingers through your hair. Moving your head nimbly to one side, he began pressing kisses to the tender skin of your jaw and neck, making the warmth in your core burn hot and low. 

You reveled in the feeling of his mouth against your neck, of his muscular torso against your thinner one, and leaned your head back against the tree, closing your eyes in contentment. He pressed a warm kiss to the spot where your neck met your shoulder, scraping his teeth against the smooth skin. You whined again, and he kissed the spot again before pulling back, grinning at you devilishly. You grinned back, and circling your arms around his neck, making yourself go up on the tips of your toes, pressed a passionate kiss to his mouth. 

The kiss began heating up, his hands trailing over every bit of your body, even dipping low at one point to brush over the curve of your ass, and you pressed into him, feeling like you could barely get enough of his strong hands on you. You could feel that he was enjoying it just as much as you were, and just as you felt him wrap his hands around the backs of your thighs to lift you up, you heard a horribly familiar chuckle from behind your partner. 

“Oi, Freddie, think that’s the boy she was having shower sex with the other night?” George’s obnoxious voice sounded from behind Zachariah, and the two of you sprang apart like you had been burnt. 

“Nah, I think our little Scales probably has a few men on rotation,” Fred theorized, making your face burn bright with anger and embarrassment. 

Fred looked between the two of us, a fake look of confusion on his face. “Say, George, you don’t think we interrupted anything, do you?” 

“No way. Our Scales would never shag up with some guy in the woods! She has more self-respect than that,” George replied, earning a snort from Fred. 

Zachariah was still standing next to you, and you could feel how awkward he felt. “I’m not  _ your  _ Scales, I was not hooking up with anyone in the shower, and Zachariah and I were  _ not  _ shagging,” You growled at the twins, annoyance swirling in your stomach. “Can’t the two of you ever mind your own fucking business?” 

Fred shook his head. “No can do, Scales. We have a moral obligation to antagonize all of our brother’s friends, most professors, and Slytherins. You being two of those means we have an extra obligation to bother you.” 

You shot an angry glare at the both of them, and though Fred’s teasing seemed rather light-hearted, George’s eyes were filled with a hot anger that didn’t seem joking at all. You knew the two of them hated you, and normally George was a bit meaner, but did he really hate you  _ that _ much? All you had been doing was kissing some boy, which you totally had a right to do, and it shouldn’t have been any of the twins’ business. 

Grabbing Zachariah’s hand, you tugged him along, pushing past the twins, smashing your shoulder into George’s as you passed. As you walked, you could still hear their jabs until you reached the main street of Hogsmeade. Turning to Zachariah, you offered an apologetic smile. 

“I’m so sorry. Those two gits never leave me alone if they can help it,” You explained, sighing. “Ever since second year, it’s just been a non-stop stream of shit like that.” 

Zachariah, to your relief, simply shrugged. “Not the end of the world, Scales,” He said jokingly, nudging you in the side. “Friends’ older brothers are always a pain in the ass, no matter what House you’re in.” 

You smiled at him, and then giggled. “What?” Zachariah asked. 

“Your hair’s a bit wild,” You said, reaching up and smoothing it down gently. “There.” 

Draping his arm over your shoulder, Zachariah said, “So, about this shower sex George mentioned…”

You glared playfully at him. “You can’t believe a word that comes out of either of their mouths,” You told him. 

“Let’s go find Knott and Briar, if they haven’t already run back to the castle to hook up,” He joked, and you nodded in agreement. 

The two of you found your friends rather quickly, Briar looking wholly bored as Knott perused the quills in Scrivenshaft’s. Her face lit up as she spotted the two of you through the large glass display window and quickly waved you in, looking relieved. You greeted her with a hug, and she whispered, “Get me out of here!” You nodded softly, and telling the two boys Briar didn’t feel well, you set off, Briar practically rushing out of the shop. 

As you walked back towards the castle, the setting sun lighting the sky with glorious shades of pink and red, Briar sighed loudly. “He is, without a doubt, the most boring and dull and thick person I’ve ever met!” 

You snorted, making two girls walking by you send you a strange look, which you rolled your eyes at and ignored. “Knott was really that bad?” 

Briar looked at you exasperatedly as she walked. “Yes, he was  _ that _ bad! Wouldn’t respond to any of my very obvious flirtations, and all he talked about was the Muggle wrestling tournament he won this summer. Such a stupid, brute sport,” She said, shaking her head. “No wonder Muggles like it.” 

Briar stopped, nearly making a Hufflepuff behind her run into her, and gave you a scrutinizing look. “You totally made out with Silver, didn’t you?” 

You gave her a wry smile. “You bet your ass I did. Well, until Fred and George showed up and ruined everything, like they always do.”

Briar grimaced. “Was it bad?” 

“Oh, no, not at all,” You said sarcastically. “Insinuated I was a whore, wouldn’t leave me alone, George looked like he wanted to kill me. You know, the usual.”

“Okay, okay, the real question is: How was Silver?” Briar asked as we walked through the covered walkway that marked the beginning of the school grounds. 

You grinned, remembering the feeling of his hands and lips on you. “Absolutely amazing,” You responded. “Not boyfriend material, I don’t think, but definite hook-up potential.”

Briar returned your smile. “That’s my girl!”

\-------------

The next evening, you were sitting outside with Ron and Harry, Hermione already drowning herself in studying, as usual. The three of you had already eaten, and were dreading the next week of schoolwork and practice. You sat on the chilled grass, picking at the bits of green plant, Ron and Harry sprawled out on either side of you. The night was steadily approaching, the sky a wonderful violet, and the air was cool enough that it made you shiver occasionally. 

“Fred and George told me they ran into you yesterday,” Ron said, making you wince. 

“Did they,” You replied, trying to remain casual. 

“Said you were uh...well, “practically jumping down Silver’s throat” are the exact words George used.”

Of course he did, the git. 

“So? Didn’t realize it was their business who I spend my free time with,” You shot back, feeling a bit defensive. 

Harry turned and looked at you. “Ron didn’t say it was. It’s just...I mean, you know his reputation,” He warned softly, earning an eye roll from you. 

“I am well aware of his  _ reputation, _ thank you. I was just having a bit of fun. There’s no harm in messing around sometimes; the both of you have done it plenty before.” Maybe plenty was a stretch, but your point still stood. “I don’t need you two protecting me.”

“Well, that’s never not going to happen, and I think you know that by now,” Harry shot back, and you acted annoyed, but it made endearment swell in your chest for your two friends.

“Hey, I get it,” Ron said, shrugging. “I don’t blame you. Just saying be careful is all. As much shit as the two of them give you, Fred and George do genuinely care about you.”

You laughed outright at that, causing Ron’s brow to furrow. “That is a good one! I think I’d believe Trelawney’s predictions more readily than I’d believe those two care about me, let alone even like me. You should’ve seen the way George was glaring at me when he saw me and Silver. I’ve never seen someone so angry,” You told the two boys, shaking your head.

“Well...okay, maybe George’s a bigger dickhead than Fred when it comes to you, but Fred honestly doesn’t mind you! He told me himself,” Ron said. 

“Aw, he doesn’t mind me? How can a girl survive hearing such sweet words?” You asked dramatically, throwing your hand over your heart in a theatrical motion. 

Harry and Ron both let out a burst of laughter at that, and you smiled. Really, you didn’t care either way what the twins, or anyone, thought of you. It just bothered you that they couldn’t seem to stay out of your way, and more so that they always did it on purpose. 

Harry sighed. “What are we going to do about Umbridge?” He asked suddenly. 

You propped yourself up on your elbows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he began, mirroring your movement, “What are we going to do? There’s no way in hell any of us will learn anything in that class if it’s taught by her, and now that Voldemort is back--” 

At the sound of Voldemort’s name, Ron let out a pained sound, and you flinched. 

“Now that Voldemort is back,” Harry pressed on, “We have to know how to defend ourselves. We can’t just sit on our asses and lay down and let the Ministry control us like they do everything else.”

You found yourself nodding in agreement, and Ron was doing the same. Harry was right; Umbridge was purposely not teaching the students actually useful things, most likely as a direct order from the Minister himself. Even if...even if  _ He _ wasn’t back, they’d still need to learn what they were meant to learn this year. 

“But what can we even do?” You asked, chewing on the inside of your cheek nervously. “We’re just students. It’s not like we can actually take on the Ministry, or even Umbridge, right?” 

Ron thought for a moment. “I dunno...I mean, Harry’s faced more shit than any witch or wizard I know, and you, me, and Hermione have been there for a lot of it. Maybe we can’t do anything about Umbridge being here, but maybe we can do something about her lessons. Maybe there’s a way we could teach ourselves.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “There has to be something we could do. We just have to figure out what that is.” 

You felt your heart begin to race at the prospect of what Harry brought up, but it wasn’t entirely out of anxiety. He was right, and so was Ron. They couldn’t just sit on their asses and deal with Umbridge and her horrifically pink and dull lessons. Harry and Ron’s faces were both stoic, far too stoic for your taste, so you spoke. 

“You think she’s ever fucked Fudge?” 

The laughter that followed echoed over the lush grounds, and Harry shoved you, making you lose your balance on your elbows and fall to the ground. You grinned at your two best friends; if anyone could fight against Umbridge’s awfulness, it would be your friends.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the delayed update! the past week has been hell and i've had little to no inspiration to write, which is why this chapter took so long, but it's extra long so hopefully that makes up for it <3 as far as choice's curse goes, i've no idea when the next chapter will be up, but hopefully it won't take too long. enjoy!

The roar of the crowd was nearly deafening as you walked out with your team onto the green Quidditch pitch, a smile spreading on your face as you reveled in the feeling of being back on the field for an actual game. It was the first of the year; Gryffindor versus Slytherin, just like it always was. Pucey had been training your team so hard the past few weeks that the seven of you could practically play a near-perfect game with your eyes closed, and as much as the lot of you groaned and whined about it, you secretly loved the feeling of sore muscles the morning after a particularly vigorous practice. Nothing quite matched the feeling of appearing blisters on the tops of your palms, the tightness in your shoulders from throwing the Quaffle over and over again, the tender spots on your sides and legs where other played knocked into you or a stray Bludger happened to find it’s mark on your skin. 

Blair and Dorian, clad in the same evergreen robes as you, smiled at you excitedly as you lined up with them on the pitch, encircling Madam Hooch. Zachariah lined up next to you, sending a playful wink your way as he did. Your heart thudded gently, and you basked slightly under his attention as you surveyed the field. The Gryffindor players were opposite your team, their burgundy robes bright even under the cloud-covered sky. You had to admit that they had a rather formidable team this year; having played frequently with four of the seven of them, you knew just how good they could actually be. When they got along, that is. 

You could see the joy shimmering in Harry and Ron’s eyes, and you sent them a small smile, making sure that Pucey didn’t see; he hated Gryffindors almost as much as Malfoy did. The latter was sending a putrid glare in Harry’s direction, but Harry, as usual, seemed altogether unbothered by the pale boy. As Madam Hooch spoke, outlining the rules, you looked at Fred and George, their bright shocks of ginger hair clashing violently with their red robes. 

Fred, to your surprise, raised his eyebrows at you and shot you a slight smirk, mouthing to you “Good luck”, and you nodded in response, mildly amused at his change in behavior. Not your usual exasperating, frustrating exchange by any means, but you found you didn’t mind the change. George, however, was his usually frigid, devious self; he didn’t even spare you a second glance once you caught him looking at you, quickly darting his eyes away to some incredibly fascinating object in the sky. All fourteen players were jostling anxiously, ready to start the game. The first match back was always the best in your opinion; the rush of being back, being home, made the players perform far better than any other game for the rest of the year. Breathing out sharply, you mounted your broom along with the rest of your team, and once the shrill silver whistle sounded, you were bolting into the air quicker than lightning.

The air rushed past your face as you ascended into the gray autumn sky, the cool temperature biting at your skin, making your cheeks already begin to burn with the cold. Hearing your name from behind you, you spun on your broom, already ready to catch the soaring maroon ball that was heading your way from one of your fellow chasers. Tucking the Quaffle tightly to your side, you urged your broom forward, darting through the sea of burgundy towards Ron, who was sitting nervously in front of the goal posts. You remembered, with a rush of friendly pride, that it was his first game; of course he’d be nervous. But, as much as you loved him, you couldn’t pull your punches, especially because Ron would be able to tell and he was likely to get rather cross at you if you did. Grinning at your best friend, you ducked past one of the older Gryffindor Chasers, rolling to the left as they tried to block you, and shot the Quaffle, twisting as you did so to add a slight curve to the path of the ball. It went soaring past Ron into the left goal post, earning an eruptive cheer from the Slytherin student section and your team, and a loud groan from the opposing house. 

Dorian held out his gloved hand for a quick high five as the field reset, winking at you proudly as he did. You saw Fred and George looking at you, talking passionately, and a tiny bolt of fear shot through you. Whatever they were planning, it could not be good; nothing ever was when it came to the twin menaces. Shifting nervously on the dark wood of your broom, the next play began, and you had little time to think any more about their scheming as players darted past and balls flew through the air. You noticed Malfoy dip low to the green grass with a sharp motion, and you hoped he had spotted the Snitch, meaning you wouldn’t have to worry about Fred and George any longer. 

You couldn’t necessarily blame them for their anger, though. Even between friends, during Quidditch, tension ran high and tendency towards violence ran even higher. Add a dash of hatred or disdain into the mix, and it became nearly all-out war at points. Fred and George flew ahead, both swinging their bats in utter synchronicity, smashing into the metal Bludger with a resounding crack. Noticing one of the Gryffindors fly past you, heading straight for the Slytherin goals, Zachariah straightened on his broom, setting himself up to move as quickly as possible with the Chaser’s motion. You ducked beneath a Bludger warbling towards you, and shot off to try and deter the Gryffindor as she neared ever closer to Zachariah. 

Zachariah’s eyes glinted with excitement as she closed in with you hot on her trail. She cocked her arm back, ready to pitch the ball into the goal posts, and as she released the Quaffle from her hand, you increased your speed and darted in front of her, grabbing the ball just moments after she let it go. A cheer flew up from the stands at your save, and Zachariah yelled out praise from his position, making you grin. Leaning forward, you cut through the air, the wind ripping your hair ever looser from its black tie. Rolling and banking, you dodged players like it was second nature, having to dip lower to the green grass to lose an opposing Chaser as you flew to the goal. The Chaser fell back, making you smile proudly, but then Fred and George slammed into your sides, making you emit a low grunt as their elbows dug into your side. 

“Get off,” You yelled over the roar of the air, gripping the Quaffle tight enough to make your hand ache. 

“Not a chance,” They both called back, but George quickly moved away, and you didn’t even have enough time to wonder why as you succinctly tried to win the gap he had given you, pushed slightly by Fred’s body. As fast as you moved, George moved quicker, slamming his solid body into yours as you darted into the space he had just left, making it look like you ran into him. Fred backed down, letting you get knocked off your broom by his brother. Having to let go of the Quaffle in order to shoot out a desperate hand to grasp onto your broom, you moved your arms wildly to try and find your broom as the pair of you fell. Your fingertips grazed the wood, but didn’t catch hold, and you crashed to the ground twice in as many months because of George Weasley.

The grass did little to soften the blow, and you felt a crack in your side as your ribs hit the ground, making you groan. As Madam Hooch sounded her whistle, pausing the game, air struggled into your lungs, your chest aching with the impact. Teachers and students alike rushed towards you, and you quickly assessed your state. Other than your chest burning and your side shooting with agony, you were relatively unharmed; not even your head hurt as Snape and Hooch leaned into view. A string of rather filthy swear words left your mouth as you tried to sit up, making even Snape’s sickly pallor glow a faint pink. Slumping back down to the ground, you focused on steadying your ragged breathing as both teams hovered above you.

It wasn’t the worst injury a player had suffered by any means; it wasn’t even the worst injury in the past year alone, but from the looks on your friends’ faces as they saw you and then looked at George and Fred, it was as if you had almost died. Even Ron, the tips of his ears glowing red with anger, was enraged as he made sure you were okay. 

Madam Hooch helped you up, doing her best to not aggravate the injuries, and you let out a tight breath as you stood. Ron, Harry, and Briar were grouped up to the sit, muttering angrily between the three of them. To their credit, Fred and George did look at least a bit ashamed, but as everyone turned away, you noticed a shit-eating grin creep up on their faces, and you could’ve punched them right then and there. 

“You bastard,” Ron shouted at George, punching him roughly in the shoulder. “You did that on purpose!” 

George, his face grimy from the intense match, rubbed his arm, wincing. “No clue what you’re talking about, Ronald. We were simply playing the game,” He defended, Fred nodding his agreement. 

“Shut it, both of you. That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Ron retorted, earning a light slap upside the head from Snape for the profanity, though it didn’t phase him a single bit. 

Fred shrugged his wide shoulders, his sweat making his robes stick to his skin. “What my dear twin said is the truth, Ronald. She shouldn’t have run into him. I guess she hasn’t learned how to stay on her broom yet, but she is a Slytherin, so who can blame her?” 

Rage bit at my cheeks, and I struggled to face him, Hooch still holding me up by my shoulder. “You’re a damn idiot, and a liar, the both of you. George ran into me on purpose, and everyone here knows it! What is your problem with me?” You asked angrily, though maybe it wasn’t the best time to get into this, as every breath caused a slight burn in your side. 

“Dear lord, Scales, I don’t think there’s enough time left in the day to count _all_ the ways in which you’re particularly irksome,” George began.

“But just the fact that you’re ridiculously stupid and annoying is a good place to start,” Fred finished. 

Your face burned red, and you noticed Dorian, who had just touched down, was looking at Fred and George with a similar fire in his eyes. “The both of you are just jealous I’m better than you, even though I’m a Slytherin. Can’t you get over your massive damn egos and let it go? Merlin’s beard, you’re both children.” 

“Better than us? No way in hell, Scales,” George shot back, his fists clenched. “Just because Ron can put up with your shit doesn’t mean we have to. You’re a piece of shit, on and off the field, and everyone knows it.” 

A light gasp rippled through the crowd surrounding you at George’s words, and even Fred elbowed him sharply in the side. George did not look sorry at all for his words, and you knew that he meant every bit of them as his brown eyes burned into you, silently challenging you to do anything in retaliation. Frustrated tears pricked your eyes, and you wrenched yourself out of Hooch’s grasp, groaning slightly as you placed all your weight on your injured side. 

“Go fuck yourself, George Weasley,” You growled, and McGonagall’s high voice cut through the tense air. 

“Detention, the four of you! That kind of language is inexcusable,” McGonagall called out, earning protests from you, Ron, and the twins. 

“Me?” Ron asked incredulously, and McGonagall shot him a sharp look. 

“Yes, _you_ , Mr. Weasley. Don’t think I didn’t hear your language earlier as well,” She reprimanded, and his freckled face flushed with embarrassment.

“As they attacked my student, Minerva, I think that it is only fitting for me to choose their punishment,” Snape’s droning voice cut in, and Professor McGonagall almost rolled her eyes before nodding. 

“Of course, Severus, but I hope--”

“Yes, she will be joining them, Minerva. I do know how to discipline my students,” Snape interjected, making McGonagall look at him pointedly before turning to tell the students to settle down in the stands. 

Turning to you, Snape continued. “The four of you will meet me in my office tonight at eight. Any later, and there will be additional punishment dolled out.”

“Professor, I-” You began.

“Yes, you as well. I expect far better behaviour from those in my House, and you are well aware of that. Eight o’clock,” He reiterated, stalking off, his black robes billowing behind him like smoke. 

You were about to yell at the twins again, but Hooch grabbed you and began walking you to the infirmary, your pace slow due to your aching side. Dorian and Zachariah trailed behind you, talking quietly as you walked off the pitch and into the castle, making your way to the hospital wing. As you left, Dumbledore announced the match would be postponed until the following weekend, much to your relief. 

Madam Pomfrey laid you down, lifting up your robes to assess your side. Zachariah’s gaze lingered as she exposed your stomach, only turning away when Dorian sighed and physically spun him around with an annoyed huff, providing you with much-appreciated privacy. 

“Not the worst I’ve ever seen, but you’ll need a lot of rest. And no practice,” She added as you opened your mouth to speak. 

“What?” Zachariah asked. “But we need her! It’s going to be--”

Madam Pomfrey shot a disapproving gaze his way, and he stopped. “No practice for the next week, and no strenuous physical activity either,” She repeated.

You nodded in agreement, your frustration with the twins growing as she told you you’d have to take the week off. If they had just played the goddamn game correctly, you wouldn’t be here, having Madam Pomfrey apply a salve that helped with the soreness. 

Because it was a rib, and ribs tend to be notoriously difficult to heal, even with magic, she told you that magic could only help with the pain, but not with the mending. After finishing her check-up, she cleared you to leave, warning you once again to be careful and to not do anything that could aggravate the injury. 

“I can’t believe those two fucking pricks,” Dorian said as the three of you left the hospital wing. “I’m so sick of them letting their stupid grudge against you get in the way of everything.”

You sighed. “Believe me, I know, but I’m fine, really. Just a bit sore,” You said, offering the two of them a small smile to show you were okay, even as each step could be felt in your side, your breath slightly labored.

“Well I hope they stay far away for a good while, or I’m going to lose it,” Zachariah informed you. “They can’t just keep messing with you! They’re so entitled and full of themselves.”

Dorian and you nodded in agreement, and you found it sweet that he was a bit defensive of you. The three of you headed to the Great Hall, hungry after your morning game. Zachariah went to sit with some of his friends, hugging you gently, and you and Dorian were waved over by Bram, Eva, Briar, and Hermione, who had begun to form a rather odd friendship with Briar this year. It was only odd because the two girls were so wildly different on the outside, but you weren’t as surprised as you might’ve been; they had similar personalities and they did have a few classes together this year. Harry and Ron were missing, but you were too hungry to care much. You sat down, grabbing warm food from the silver platters on the table, Dorian doing the same, and you began eating, your stomach grumbling in anticipation. 

“What did Pomfrey say?” Briar asked, sipping from her cup. 

“Just a broken rib, some bruising,” You said casually, cutting off a piece of pancake and popping it in your mouth. 

“Damn gits,” Bram said, making the table laugh lightly. “What? They are. They nearly killed you!”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly at him. “No, they didn’t. I’ve been hurt worse in Quidditch. This really wasn’t even that bad. Remember when I got shoved into one of the stands and snapped my arm in half?”

Everyone at the table winced and confirmed that they did remember. Dorian rubbed your back, making you lean into him. “I’m just glad you’re alright,” He said gently, and you nodded. 

“Always am,” answered, but you could feel an odd heaviness in your chest that had nothing to do with your ribs.

\----------

You and Ron sulked to Snape’s office, the sky dark outside the glass windows of the hallway you were walking in. The day had been spent procrastinating homework, your friends choosing instead to lounge about and talk and rest, much to Hermione and Eva’s frustration. Zachariah had found you to see how you were doing, and after you reassured him that you were indeed just fine, he left, giving you a rather passionate kiss in front of your friends that had your cheeks heating. 

“Zachariah, huh?” Ron asked as the two of you walked sullenly through the empty hallways.

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” You told him, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Just having some fun, y’know?” 

Ron chuckled. “Well, I hope for your sake he knows that. I’ve seen him with a lot of girls before, but I’ve never seen him half as worried about anyone as he was about you when you fell.” 

Your cheeks reddened, but you put on a casual air. “He does. I mean, I’ve never said that I want anything beyond messing around, and neither has he.” 

“Whatever you say,” Ron said, ruffling your hair, making you swat away his hand and grumble at him with a half-hearted anger. “I guess I can’t knock you too much for having fun, though. I...I’ve had a lot of free time, too,” He said with a blush.

You laughed. “I’m making you tell me all about her when we’re done with this detention, you know that, right?” 

Ron grinned and pushed open the door to Snape’s office, Fred and George surprisingly already there. Fred had his feet slung across the arm of his chair in a perfect picture of ease, and George looked fed up and tired as he met your gaze and rolled his eyes. The two of them were in casual clothing; Fred in a red zip-up and jeans, George in black jeans and a soft grey tee with a flannel pulled over it. 

“Nice of you to show up,” Snape began, his nasally voice loud in the small room. “Now, the four of you exhibited some very disappointing behavior earlier,” He said, his eyes landing on you. You resisted the urge to protest, knowing it would do you no good. Much to many of the Hogwarts students’ surprise, Snape was actually harder on his own House than any other, with a few exceptions, like Malfoy. He demanded perfection; if you were not the top of your class, especially in Potions, there would be endless antagonization from him until your grades improved. 

“And as such,” Snape continued, “I have decided that two of you are going to help me scrub out the cauldrons from last year that were...unfortunately left with some rather unpleasant messes at the end of term. The other two will be helping me sort out my storeroom.” 

Groans erupted from the twins and Ron, but you wisely kept your mouth shut. 

“You’ll be split into pairs; Fred with Ron, and George with you,” Snape informed you, and you did open your mouth to argue this time. 

“Professor, that’s a terrible idea! I can’t---”

“I understand you and Mr. Weasley have no inclination to work together. Perhaps this will give you two the chance to sort out your extremely immature behavior towards the other.” The look in Snape’s beady eyes told you it was wise to shut up and accept your unfortunate luck. “If your tasks are not finished tonight, you will be expected to return and complete the work assigned to you.” 

George shrugged, and Snape spoke one last time. “And no magic.” George let out a sound of indignation, but a sharp look from Snape cut him off immediately.

Fred and Ron, to Ron’s chagrin, stayed with Snape to clean his storeroom, and you and George were instructed to head to the classroom to scrub cauldrons. You could already feel your rib aching in anticipation for the undoubtedly strenuous task ahead of you, but you figured that Snape wouldn’t care if your arms were broken; he would still tell you it was possible to complete the task. 

The walk was short, but the air was thick with tension as your feet clacked against the floor, George mumbling angrily to himself. You huffed with annoyance. It was utterly ridiculous that _he_ was upset about the situation when it was his fault you were all here in the first place, and you had half a mind to tell him so. 

That thought was cut short as you entered the classroom, the dungeon air damp, and you felt your stomach sink at the sheer size of the stack of dirty cauldrons in the back of the room. There had to have been at least thirty, and you hazarded a guess that just one would take at least twenty minutes to clean. George stalked to the pile, selected one, and hefted it onto the nearest table, grabbing a sponge and a bucket full of soapy water after selecting his cauldron. You followed his actions, choosing to put your first cauldron on the next nearest table to save yourself the trouble of any more work. 

Peering inside the cauldron, you saw that a black crust was covering the bottom of the pot, and you groaned out loud, grabbing your sponge and dipping it in the soapy water. “Fucking unbelievable,” You muttered to yourself as you began scrubbing the grime from the metal. 

“Shut up, would you? I can’t stand to hear your voice one more goddamn time today,” George informed you, making you throw your sponge down into your bucket angrily, splashing the soapy water up, wetting your sweatshirt and making you huff in annoyance. 

“Really? You’re angry at me?” You asked incredulously. 

“Yes, _you_ , Scales,” George shot back. “If you could stay on your damn broom,--”

“If you hadn’t fucking pushed me, you mean?” 

George ran his large hands through his ginger hair, the slight dampness on his hands slicking it back slightly. “Merlin’s beard, you’re like a thorn in my side. I wish that Ron had never met you.”

You scoffed. “Like you’d be my first choice as my best friend’s brother. You’ve made my life harder since the day we met, and for what? Because of a stupid, outdated prejudice that you refuse to let go of no matter how many times I prove I’m nothing like people like Malfoy or Pucey,” You accused him, watching his jaw tense at the mention of one of his least favorite Slytherins besides you. 

“Whatever, Scales. You may have fooled everyone else, even Fred now, but I know, deep down, you’re just as shitty and shallow as the rest of your House,” George said, pushing up the sleeves of his flannel and beginning to scrub vigorously at his cauldron, his arms tensing as he did. “I don’t know how everyone else doesn’t see how utterly arrogant and full of yourself you are. You think you’re hot shit, that everyone automatically likes you, but they don’t. I bet even Silver only puts up with you because you’re easy.” 

Your face flushed, and you looked away to hide it. “I’m not easy,” You defended. “You have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” George asked, turning towards you. “Like I haven’t seen how many people you’ve gotten with in just the past three years alone. You’re not slick, Scales. Silver probably just saw that the resident Slytherin slut was available and jumped at the chance to get his dick wet.”

You met his gaze, even as your face still burned red, fury coursing through you at his vulgar words. “And what about you, George? You lead girls on like it’s your damn job, and you don’t even feel bad that you break their hearts.”

George laughed, a snarky, arrogant sound. “Like I can help it if girls fall in love with me. Can you blame them? Even you have to admit I’m quite the catch.”

“Yes, actually, I can blame them, and no, you fucking aren’t,” You muttered, turning back to your work. 

“Sounds like someone’s jealous,” George said in a singsong voice, his voice full of prickling unkindness. 

Jealous? Of the poor girls who had to deal with him? “You fucking wish,” You told him, still focusing on getting off the black mess that was on the cauldron in front of you.

George snorted. “I wouldn’t wish being with you on my worst enemy, Scales. Sorry to disappoint.” 

You clenched your jaw, rage simmering in your stomach as the words stung, just the tiniest bit. Yes, Fred and George both had filled out over the past two years, and their previously awkward lankiness had turned into pure, toned muscle, and yes, you could see how their nonchalant attitudes and smooth flirting could make a girl become obsessed, but you had no idea how anyone got over their personalities, especially George’s. The both of them truly thought they were god’s gift to womankind, and that would’ve made you automatically uninterested even if you hadn’t previously disliked them. George, though the quieter and more level-headed of the two, pulled, and subsequently dropped, more girls than Fred did, and that had always baffled you. 

He wasn't entirely inaccurate about the amount of guys you had been with, especially last year, but you weren’t _easy._ People had to earn your attention, boy or girl; you had always been like that. You weren’t one to mess around with just anyone, but it wouldn’t matter if you were. It was none of George’s business who you were with. You didn’t see why he brought it up so damn much either. 

Nosy bastard. 

The two of you didn’t speak for the remainder of the time, and that was absolutely just fine with you. You had, thankfully, overestimated the time it would take to clean the cauldrons. You and George had divided it up evenly, and you had had the idea after finishing your first one to fill the rest with soapy water to soak while you worked on your second. This made your job wildly easier, and you finished your fifteen in a mere three hours, with George still having five or six pots to go. As you finished your last one, you made quite a show of it, wanting to brag about being done first. Your hurried pace had caused your rib to pulse painfully within the first hour, but being near George was less appealing than pushing through the hurt, so you had done your best to ignore it as you worked. 

With your cauldrons stacked neatly and freshly shining, you emptied your soapy water with a simple incantation, and placing your sponge inside of your now-dry bucket, you dried your hands and turned to George. 

“Have fun,” You said, a sickly sweetness filling your voice as George looked up and saw that you were done. 

His glare was icy and full of rage, and you had no doubt that this would only add to his ever-growing list of why he hated you, but you found you didn’t really care as you walked out of the dungeon, leaving him to scrub away miserably at his remaining cauldrons.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy halloween! hope you enjoy<3333
> 
> -ch23(i think) of choice's curse is up!-

The next weekend, Harry, Ron, you, and Hermione filled out of Hogwarts’ giant doors into the icy afternoon air, excited for another weekend in Hogsmeade. Excited, and horrifically nervous, as it was the first meeting of students who wished just as badly as the four of you that they had a proper Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You all had been planning it all week, using any free time to spread the word and figure out what you would actually  _ do _ if you managed to create a functioning group. You could tell Harry was more nervous than the rest of you, because the three of you had insisted that Harry be the figurehead of the movement. He was the best out of all of you, and more people knew him than the rest of you. 

For all his disagreement and humility, Harry really was a born leader. There was just something about him that drew people in. 

The air, while cold, was still and pleasant, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for something. You felt that way too; nervousness had rattled your frame the past day and a half, the thought of so blatantly defying a teacher and the Ministry rather daunting. Hermione, of course, had brought up a long, detailed list of everything that could possibly go wrong, and you could see the blood drain out of Harry’s face as Hermione had read every scenario out to us. 

You wondered fleetingly what your parents would think of this. Your family was Pureblood, but nothing like the elitists, such as the Malfoys and the Parkinsons. A Slytherin family too, through and through; your parents had met in the very school you now attended. You thought that they’d might be a bit proud of you for at least standing up for something that you believed in. 

The snow softened your footsteps on the cobblestone road as the four of you reached Hogsmeade’s main road, the lanterns lit with a soft glow, even in the late morning. Students moved up and down the roads, laughter and shouts ringing in the air as they let go of the stress that school had begun to build up in everyone. Storefronts shone with inviting warmth as you made your way to the designated meeting spot, and you longed for a hot drink to warm your freezing hands. 

You were too nervous to admit this, but you were worried that no one would show up, or worse, that you’d be walking into the room and find Umbridge and her lackeys waiting to ambush you. Walking into the Hog’s Head, you stomped some of the caked snow off your shoes, taking in the dingy bar that lay before you. Unlike the Three Broomsticks, it was poorly lit, and an unpleasant, sour smell hit your nose as you walked towards the stairs and up to the small room above the filthy bar. 

Ron had grumbled about having to be in the Hog’s Head, but Hermione argued seclusion was more important than comfort, and you had agreed with her. This wasn’t something you all could afford to be sloppy with; one serious slip-up, and you could very well just be expelled from Hogwarts on the spot. None of you wanted that, of course. In varying degrees, you all viewed Hogwarts as a second home, but that was exactly why you all felt so strongly about learning things that could actually protect you. 

Voldemort hadn’t been mentioned once in your extensive discussions, but you knew that you all were thinking about it. You had to be prepared, because something big was coming, and the Ministry wanted Hogwarts defenseless on purpose. 

The meeting wasn’t set to begin for another ten minutes, leaving you to anxiously pace, making Hermione ask you exasperatedly to stop. You murmured an apology, and sat down, tapping your foot quickly, which made her send another annoyed look your way, but she didn’t say anything. You could tell they were nervous, too; Harry was rubbing at his scar, Ron was picking at the worn hem of his top, and Hermione was twirling a curl around her finger over and over again. People slowly began to trickle in. More than were expected showed up, but that only encouraged the four of you, even if Harry looked as though he was going to be sick. 

Suddenly, the door banged open, and Fred, George, Ginny, and Dean Thomas walked in, laughing loudly. 

“Well, hello, you-” George began, but he stopped suddenly as his eyes landed on you, sitting by the door.“What the hell is that Slytherin doing here?”

You rolled my eyes. “I’m helping Harry, you fucking dimwit.”

“There’s no way we can let a Slytherin join this if we don’t want it to end in us all getting expelled,” George said, in nearly a shout, which made the group collectively shush them. “What? From what I’ve seen, they’re all so far up Umbridge’s ass that they would jump at any chance to rat us out.” 

Standing up angrily, you shot a glare at him, having to tilt your head back because of his proximity. “Seriously? You actually think I would do that?” 

George crossed his arms and looked down at you, his brown eyes squinted with disgust. “Yes, Scales, I do. I don’t care what anyone says, I don’t fucking trust you.” 

“C’mon, Georgie, you know she wouldn’t do that,” Fred tried to reason with his twin, but George ignored him. It was odd, this dynamic that had come to life between them recently when it came to you. Normally, Fred was the one who tended to go too far and George was the one that would pull him back, but if you were involved, it was the exact opposite. 

“I’m watching you, Scales. One fuck up, and I’ll make sure that Umbridge knows about your particular activities with a certain someone,” George threatened before following Fred to the other side of the room. 

Your face flushed as George brought up Zachariah; not because you were embarrassed, but because Umbridge had just issued a decree that boys and girls weren’t allowed within eight inches of each other. From what you had seen, the punishment for breaking that particular rule was something that you had no interest in experiencing. 

“Alright,” Harry began, standing up and clapping his hands once to get the crowd’s attention. “We all know why we’re here, so I’ll skip the introductions and just get straight into it. Umbridge’s teaching is shit, and we need a better teacher and a place to practice. Now, I’ve got a place in mind, but we need to decide on a leader.”

Murmurs ran throughout the room, and you wondered if everyone was thinking the same thing you were: that Harry was the obvious choice. The twins seemed to be thinking the same thing, because they shouted out, “It’s you, Harry!”

Their shouts were met with sounds of agreement, and Harry looked as if he might pass out. “No, I--” 

“They’re right,” You said, standing up and walking to the front of the room. “Harry, you’re the only one who knows what we’re really up against, and don’t even pretend that you aren’t good at Defense Against the Dark Arts; we’ve all seen what you can do. None of us are nearly as good of a fit for it as you are.” 

Fred gave you an appreciative look as you voiced your agreement with them, but George refused to look at you, even as everyone came forward to sign the piece of paper you placed on the table. Hermione hadn’t told anyone besides Harry, Ron, and you, but she had placed an enchantment on the paper that if anyone told anybody else outside of the group about the meetings, the word “sneak” would appear across their forehead in a nasty bout of boils. 

After everyone signed, Harry announced that the first meeting would be held a week from that Saturday in the Room of Requirement, and the group left in small bunches so that they wouldn’t all be seen leaving together, with you, Ron, and the twins leaving last. Harry had gone with Ginny, of course, and Hermione had left in the first wave, saying that she had some studying to catch up on. You were on the other side of the room, putting it back together, and you heard Ron whispering heatedly to his brothers. 

“You’re a dick, George, you know that? Can’t you just leave her alone? I don’t understand what your damn problem is,” He hissed.

George let out a snort, not bothering to keep it quiet. “My problem is that she’s a Slytherin, and she’s annoying, and she shags practically every guy she meets. I don’t see how you’ve put up with her for so long.” 

Fred nodded his agreement. “He’s got a point, Ronald. How do we know that she won’t just turn around and tell that Silver boy all about this meeting?”

At that, you whirled around, fury shaking your frame. “At this point, it’s not even worth defending myself with you two because you won’t believe me, but why would I rat out this meeting when I was the one who came up with the idea?”

Fred’s face showed the tiniest bit of shock at your admission, but you continued. 

“And not every guy, George; I’d rather choke than ever get with you. From what I’ve heard, it’d not be worth it anyways.”

Now that...may have not been the entire truth. You had heard from a few girls that both the twins were, well, rather gifted in that particular area, but you would die before you ever let them know that. It would inflate their egos so much you were almost sure it would make their heads explode. 

“Like I’d ever have that little self-respect, Scales,” George shot back.

“I don’t see why you care so damn much about who I get with, anyways,” You retorted. “This is what, the fourth time you’ve brought up this year? Sounds to me like you’re keeping track or something.”

George’s entire body tensed and he stalked over to you, using his height to try and intimidate you. His spiced cologne flooded your nose and you wrinkled it at the smell, trying to do anything you could to bother him. You had to back up slightly to accommodate him, your back bumping into the thin wall of the little attic. “I’ll say this one more time so it gets through your thick skull. I don’t fucking care about you, or anything that you do. All you are to me, to everyone in your life, is a damn liability, a mistake waiting to happen. Ron hasn’t realized it yet, but I have a feeling that he’s going to soon. Stay out of my damn way,” He snarled, and honestly, the amount of rage and bitterness that George had just shown shocked you and made your stomach sink slightly. It was then that you realized how much he  _ truly _ despised you, and it made your mood plummet in a way that surprised you. 

“Oi, Georgie, that’s a bit-” Fred began, but George shot him a look. 

He stormed out of the attic, and Fred followed, calling out to you that he was going to try and talk some sense into him. You just nodded, feeling rather rattled. George hated you, you knew that. But it seemed as though every time he spoke to you, that hatred got stronger and stronger, and you couldn’t see how much of it was out of spite and how much of it was actually real, because in the past, he hadn’t been nearly this hostile towards you. You had thought that most of their hostility had been out of obligation, not out of reality. 

“You alright?” Ron asked as the two of you left the attic. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” You said, waving a hand as if dismissing his comment. “Just George being George, that’s all.”

“He’s wrong, you know. I mean about me. You’re my best friend and you always will be. I’ve never cared about any of that stupid House stuff like they do.”

You shot a small smile towards your best friend. “I know. You can’t get rid of me that easily anyways, Weasley,” You joked. 

“I wouldn’t want to, anyways. But I am going to talk to George. This is getting insane, I mean, it’s like you killed his first-born child or something.”

You snorted at that as you and Ron exited the Hog’s Head, eager to get out of the smoky, dense air, and started back towards the castle, the sun dimmed by the thick cover of clouds in the sky. As you walked, you became lost in thought, contemplating Fred and George. You felt mildly annoyed by the fact that you couldn’t quite figure out where either of their changes in behavior had come from. In the past, you had been scarily good at reading people, but Fred and George had always been the exception to that. What was worse was that you could only find it in yourself to hate them because they hated you, even with your history as a notorious grudge-holder; if they didn’t, you’d honestly love the both of them. As much as you hated to admit it, they had this sort of infectious energy, and you had found yourself slightly jealous a time or two when watching them interact with everyone but you. With others, they were always bright and bubbly and hilarious; with you, they were cold and vicious, and though it was more irksome than hurtful most of the time, it still bothered you that they, especially George, had such a change in behavior when you were around. 

Even with other Slytherins, they weren’t nearly as terrible to them, with the exception of Malfoy, but no one liked that stupid git. You sighed, tucking your freezing hands into the pockets of your pants, shivering slightly in the cold wind. Suddenly, you remembered you and Ron’s conversation right before your unfortunate detention with Snape, and as you walked through the massive doors of the front of the castle, you stopped dead in your tracks. 

Ron stopped a few moments after you did, looking back with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“You sneaky bastard,” You accused lightheartedly. “You thought I was just going to forget that girl you mentioned before detention the other day?” 

Ron’s ears tingled red and he winced at you. “I was hoping you would just forget,” He confessed. 

“In all our years of friendship, have I ever forgotten anything?” You retorted.

“Fair enough,” Ron conceded. “It’s, uh, Lavender Brown.”

You let out a soft noise of acknowledgement, taking a moment to process it. From what you had seen, she was nice enough, if a bit...airy at times, but that certainly wasn’t grounds to dislike her. You hadn’t had enough time with her to make an accurate judgement, so you just said, “Huh.”

“Is that a good ‘huh’ or a bad ‘huh’?” Ron inquired as the two of you climbed the moving stairs, heading towards the library to meet Hermione there to study for Transfiguration. 

“Neutral,” You said, shrugging. “She makes you happy?”

“Happy? Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Then I’ve got no opinion on the matter. Just glad you’re getting out there, mate. It’s good for you!” You told him, patting him on the shoulder. “Maybe messing around with her will help you get some of those jitters out before Quidditch games.”

Ron snorted. “Now that’s a good plan,” He said sarcastically. 

“What? I’m serious!” You told him, laughing as you tried to remain entirely serious. 

“That what you do with Silver?”

You shoved Ron, making him stumble a step and return your shove once he righted himself. “I’ll have you know, I am always on the top of my game! The nerves help me play better,” You quipped. “I don’t need help; I’m the best!” 

Ron let out a loud laugh, and you were just about to open your mouth and suggest something rather inappropriate Ron could do with Lavender before games, when the aforementioned boy spoke from behind you. 

“And here I was, just about to see if you were interested in shagging in the dressing rooms before the next game,” Zachariah said, laughter shining in his eyes. 

Ron let out a fake gag, and you elbowed him in the side, making him grumble angrily. “Hey, Silver,” You greeted him with a smile. 

“What are you guys up to?” 

“Ah, just heading to the library for a super fun study session with Hermione,” Ron told him, and, sending you a very obvious look, said, “I’d better get going or she’ll probably make me write lines or something.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but you were grateful Ron had given you an opening to skip studying and spend time with Zachariah. You hadn’t seen him much that week, and you found yourself itching for some alone time with the muscled boy. 

“Are you doing anything right now?” You asked, stepping closer and slinging your arms around his neck, making you lift onto the tips of your toes.

Zachariah smirked down at you, his eyes flickering down to your mouth before bouncing back up to your eyes. “Not a damn thing.”

Your answering grin was enough to make him grab your hand and tug you towards an empty broom cupboard that was tucked in the back corner of a rarely-used corridor on the fifth floor. It had been nearly two weeks since you had been alone with him, and you could feel the anticipation eating away at you even as he locked the door behind the two of you, leaving you in near-darkness besides the light that leaked through the cracks around the wooden door. 

Almost immediately after shutting the door, Zachariah backed you up against the furthest wall of the small room, his hands rising to cup your face between them. “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” He murmured, his voice rough with desire as he looked at you. 

The look in his eyes sent arousal shooting through you, and you ran your hands up his chest, relishing the strong cords of muscle that lie beneath his skin. “You gonna do something about it? Or are you just going to look at me?” You joked, but it was cut short as his mouth collided with yours and you let out a soft sound of approval as he kissed you roughly. His hands were rough as you kissed, but you loved the aggression far more than any of the soft touches you’d received from other boys in the past. 

You trailed your hands down his abdomen, coming to his waistband and hooking your fingers through his belt loops, tugging his hips into yours. He sighed appreciatively into your mouth as your hips met, the pressure delicious against you as he began to grind his hips into yours. Opening your mouth slightly, you nipped at his bottom lip with your teeth, tugging gently, before returning to kissing him, and your movements made him deepen the kiss. His mouth was hot against yours, moving feverishly, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, and you shared the sentiment. 

Pulling back, you gave him one more small kiss before ducking your head and brushing your mouth gently against his neck, his pulse thrumming faintly under the skin. He let out a rather passionate moan, and you grinned against his skin, knowing that you had found one of his more sensitive areas. Kissing the spot again, this time scraping your teeth against it, his sounds lit a fire in your core, and you continued your motions, pressing rough, harsh kisses to the entirety of his throat. 

You felt him harden against you as you moved, and the wetness between your thighs grew as his hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you back from him. His fingers were cold against your skin, and you felt that familiar feeling of lightheadedness as they pressed into the sides of your throat, cutting off your air. 

“Merlin’s beard,” Zachariah sighed, and you smiled cheekily at him as if to say “I know”. Slotting a powerful thigh between your legs, he ground into you, making you let out a squeaking moan as his hand gripped tighter around your throat. The pressure was deliciously welcome, relieving some of the want that had been building quickly, but it wasn’t nearly enough, and you whined at the lack of actual pleasure. Zachariah grinned devilishly, making your heart stutter. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked sweetly, as if he didn’t know. 

You looked at him with pleading eyes, your breath shallow in your chest. “P-Please,” You managed to get out. 

“Please what?” He asked, moving his leg away entirely, and you would’ve sagged with disappointment if his hand hadn’t been pinning you against the wall. 

“I need you inside of me,” You panted, practically whining, and he let go of your throat, allowing you to gulp in a deep breath of cool air. 

“Good girl,” Zachariah praised, and he motioned for you to turn around. 

You quickly complied, your heart racing in anticipation as you faced away from him. You felt his strong hands grab your waistband and tug down, leaving the bottom half of you exposed to the chilly air. His hands gripped your thighs and spread them, making you lean against the wall. 

“Holy fuck,” He whispered, and you felt two fingers press against your entrance, making you jump in surprise. 

Zachariah shushed you, wrapping his other arm around your waist to make sure that you wouldn’t move away, and pressed his fingers into you, making you squirm with pleasure. His fingers weren’t terribly long, but they were rather large, and they filled you in a way that had you longing for even more as he worked his fingers in and out of you, feeling gentle pleasure rise as he fucked you softly. 

His fingers felt good, but you wanted even more, and finally he withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling empty. You heard the sound of a zipper being undone and pants being pulled down, and then you felt his head pressing against your dripping entrance, teasing you. 

“Beg for it,” Zachariah whispered in your ear, wrapping his hand once more around your throat. You nearly let out a moan just at that, and you could barely get out, “Pl-” before he rammed into you, sinking in until your hips were nearly touching. 

You let out a high moan at that, feeling his dick stretch you open so wonderfully, and he barely paused to give you time to adjust before he was slamming into you, hard and fast, making a constant stream of whimpers and whines escape your mouth. He removed his hand and clamped it around your mouth, cutting off your noises.

“Such a needy little slut. You’re going to let the whole castle know you’re getting fucked if you don’t keep it down,” He growled into your ear, his breath speeding up as he moved in and out of you, adjusting his hips so he hit your spot every time he rammed into your warmth. He certainly wasn’t the biggest you’d ever been with, but the way that he thrusted into you made up for the lack of size. 

Your hips began to ache as he continued fucking you, and you brought your hand down between your hips to help build your own orgasm. His pace was relentless, and you could barely catch a full breath because of how much you were moaning and sighing, and his hand that wasn’t clamped around your mouth was wrapping around your middle, pressing you impossibly closer to him. You could feel that you were close, and you tried to tell him, but your words only came out as warbling whines as he moved in and out so roughly that you thought your hips might be bruised the next day. His deep moans were a constant presence in your ear, and his sounds of pleasure made you even more aroused as you felt your orgasm nearing. As if he could tell, he began fucking you even faster, and between your movements and his cock hitting that spot inside of you, you were soon pushed over the edge of pleasure. 

You moaned with abandon as you felt your orgasm rip through your body, making you shudder and your legs shake. Zachariah, by the way his hips had started to stutter, was nearing his finish as well, and after a few more deep slams into you, he quickly pulled out and you felt the sticky warmth of his cum paint your backside. 

The two of you stood there panting for a few moments before Zachariah mumbled a few words and you felt the liquid on your skin vanish. You turned around, facing him, and gave him a smile. His face was flushed and his chest was heaving, but he returned your grin, giving you a kiss that was so soft it sent butterflies loose in your stomach. 

He handed you your pants and underwear, and you slipped them on, your legs groaning with the effort. He righted himself, and you did your best to make sure that it didn’t look like you had just been fucked senseless in a broom closet. 

“That was fantastic,” Zachariah told you as he opened the door to the closet. 

“Absolutely terrific,” You agreed, and Zachariah gave you another kiss before sauntering off. 

You couldn’t help the slight feeling of disappointment you felt as you watched him walk away. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! my semester ends soon, so i'll be able to get chapters out quicker after that. i am so happy to hear that you guys love this story so much already it means the world to me! your comments make me smile so much. enjoy<333

The next week passed in a blur of homework, practice, and lingering soreness that still persisted in your ribs, even with all the rest and care you’d given your damaged side. There was an ever-present feeling of anticipation as the first official meeting of Dumbledore’s Army loomed ever nearer, but so far, no students had let slip any information about the group or their activities, which assuaged your anxiety the slightest bit. 

You had spent more time with Briar, Eva, and Dorian that week than anyone else; between classes and Quidditch, you hadn’t had really any free time at all, and you could feel yourself beginning to wear down with the constant stream of work and exercise. You hadn’t even seen Zachariah outside of practice, but a small part of you felt oddly relieved about that. The feelings that had begun to spring up concerning him were ones that you had no interest in entertaining, especially because of the reputation that he had. 

Sure, he was good for some fun, but you could feel yourself wanting more, and you were not interested in being with someone like that right now, or any time soon. You simply were far too busy, and you were perfectly fine with that. 

It definitely was  _ not _ because you had heart-pounding anxiety whenever you thought about being with Zachariah, or anyone, like that. 

You were sitting down to dinner alone on Friday, having reached the Great Hall before the rest of your friends. Your head hurt and your body was sagging with exhaustion from the strenuous week, when Ron plopped down next to you, his hair and robes a disheveled mess. The food on your plate had barely been touched, and Ron snatched a bit of bread off it and shoved it in his mouth. 

“Hi,” You said, tiredness weighing down your voice. 

Ron looked at you, his eyes soft with concern. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, taking a breath in and letting it loose slowly, as if you could simply breath out your stress. 

“C’mon, out with it,” Ron demanded as he filled a plate for himself, piling it high with every food within arm’s reach. “I can tell something’s up.”

“Just…” You began, breathing out sharply. “Tired, I guess, Sore. The usual.” 

Ron paused his actions, setting down his plate and turning towards you. “Okay, really, are you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah. This week has just been difficult, y’know?” You answered, shrugging. “I just need a day off. Pucey’s been drilling our asses like our lives depend on how well we can throw a Quaffle, and my ribs are not very happy about that. I’m pretty sure I’ve been knocked around on my broom more times this week than in the entire rest of my life combined.” 

“Odd, I recall Pomfrey saying you  _ weren’t _ supposed to play this week,” Ron said pointedly, and you flushed. 

“Did she? Huh,” You responded, fixing your gaze to your plate and pushing around a stray green bean with the tines of your fork.

Ron nudged you lightly, giving you an exasperated look. “No wonder you feel so terrible. You were meant to take it easy this week, not kill yourself with Quidditch.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “I know, I know, but when have I ever been able to take a break?” 

“Fair enough,” Ron admitted, shoving a bite into his mouth. “But seriously, you need to relax or you’ll get hurt again. Maybe taking a few days off would be worth it.” 

“Maybe.”

“But you won’t.”

You laughed out loud at that. “You know me too well, Ronald Weasley.” 

“You’re damn right I do,” He responded, grinning at you, his mouth full of food, and you wrinkled your nose at the sight of his half-chewed food. 

“You’re gross, you know that?” You asked, a humorous lilt in your voice. 

“Just like you!” Ron answered, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “That’s why we’re best friends, mate.”

You snorted, trying to push his arm off your shoulders, but Ron had gotten stronger over the summer, and you couldn’t really overpower him anymore, much to your dismay. 

“Well, that’s one thing we can agree on, right, Georgie?” Fred’s voice interrupted from behind the two of you, and you held in a groan as you turned your head and saw the twins looming over you, their towering height even more noticeable from where you were sat at the table. 

“Indeed we can, Freddie! Though I’d say Scales is more disgusting between the two,” George added, and you felt irritation color your cheeks as he looked at you, his face wrinkled as if you smelled. 

Which you didn’t, thank you very much.

“Piss off, you two,” Ron shot back. “Don’t you have some kid waiting for you to test out your candy on? Or did all your willing volunteers finally run out because they heard they’ll just end up barfing their guts up in the hospital wing?” 

“Ah, Ronald, how naive of you. We’ll never run out of volunteers, not as long as we have this,” Fred said, patting the pocket of his jacket, making what sounded like quite a load of coins clink together as he jostled them. 

“Where the hell did you two even get that much money, anyways?” You asked, genuinely curious. They hadn’t had jobs over the past summer to your knowledge, and yet, they somehow never ran out of money to buy new supplies or bribe unsuspecting younger students with. 

“Georgie, think we ought to tell them?”

“Nah, we promised we wouldn’t. Besides, why would we tell  _ her _ of all people?” George answered, shooting you a snide look, and you had to stop yourself from childishly sticking your tongue out at him in response. “Surprised she’s even kept her mouth shut this long about the  _ thing _ last week.” 

“Merlin’s beard, will you shut up? At this point,  _ you’re _ going to be the reason people find out,” You hissed. 

George scoffed. “Right. Because someone could totally figure out all the inner workings of something by me calling it ‘the thing’.”

“Well, maybe it’s just best not to refer to it at all,” Fred advised, and George rolled his eyes at his twin. “What?”

“Ridiculous,” George grumbled, and the two of them sauntered away, surely off to almost accidentally poison a first-year with their newest piece of magical candy. 

“I swear, George is going to be the reason I have an aneurysm,” You mumbled, taking a bit of the hearty soup in front of you, tomato and basil hitting your tastebuds with a warm burst of flavor. “What the hell did I even  _ do _ to him?”

“I don’t know what his deal is, but he needs to cut the shit out,” Ron agreed. “Still haven’t been able to figure out why he has such a massive stick up his ass.” 

You had no doubt it was solely because of you, and you felt a bit...offended, almost. That wouldn’t be an odd sensation to feel in any other circumstance, but you had so long ago learned to take Fred and George’s bullshit with a grain of salt, and usually their icy bitterness towards you left you unbothered. Now, though, between what had happened right before the term started, and seeing Fred and George be so joyful around others, you felt oddly isolated and left out. 

You decided you did not care for all the new feelings that were popping up this week. 

Having eaten your fill of the delicious dinner that had been made that night, Ron suggested the two of you go sit by the lake and enjoy the last bits of pleasant weather before the bitter winter started spreading across the castle grounds. You agreed, even though you had a Prefects meeting that night. It sounded about as much fun as writing lines, and besides, there would always be more meetings. Add dealing with Malfoy on top of that, and you’d rather stick a fork in your hand than attend it. 

On your way out to the grounds, Hermione caught up with you and she decided to join you, having just finished her nightly two-hour study session. The three of you walked, the lush grass swishing beneath your feet, the sky overhead the light purple of dusk. Crisp autumn air met your nose with that familiar musk, and you sighed, feeling the stress that had been building in your shoulders and neck fade the slightest bit. Having just reached the lake, you heard a shrill voice shout from behind you, and you suppressed a groan.

“Won-Won!” Lavender called out, the use of her affectionate nickname making you scrunch your nose with disdain. 

Hermione, who was standing next to you, tensed, and suddenly began intently studying the foliage that lay at her feet. Her hands were grasping the black fabric of her school robes with a shocking intensity, making her knuckles turn white with effort. Ron, a giant grin breaking out on his face, turned and greeted the girl, sweeping her up in a rather passionate embrace. Lavender squealed as Ron lifted her off her feet, swinging her around gently, and she let out a laugh, demanding he let her down. Ron set her back on the ground, but kept his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and giving her a disgustingly affectionate look. Lavender’s hands were resting against the broad plane of Ron’s chest, her eyes returning the airy delight that shone in Ron’s.

You were definitely going to give him shit for that later, you promised yourself.

Lavender leaned up on the tips of her toes to whisper something in Ron’s ear that made his face flare red, and he nodded quickly, making Lavender smile. Hermione let a small huff of air as she did. 

“Hey, I’m going to uh--I’m going,” Ron explained, clearly flustered by whatever Lavender had just told him. 

“Have fun,” Hermione muttered, her voice icy with displeasure, and hurt flashed in Ron’s eyes before Lavender grabbed his hand and hauled him away. 

The wintry tone in her voice made even you cringe a bit. Once the pair were out of earshot, you turned to Hermione, ready to ask her what was wrong, but you stopped at the sight of her face. Crystalline tears were glistening on her cheeks, emphasized by the odd evening light, and her mouth was trembling with the beginning of a sob. 

You had never been the best at comforting people, especially where tears were involved, but you placed a light hand on Hermione’s back, rubbing it softly. A subdued sob left Hermione’s mouth, and you felt your heart contract because of how much hurt was present in the simple sound. 

“Hermione, what’s wrong?”

She sniffled, wiping away a few stray tears that still lingered on her face. “Ron is just so damn oblivious all the time. How can he even stand to be around that girl anyways? She’s so entirely vapid and-and-”

Another sob, louder this time, was let out, and Hermione wrapped her arms around you suddenly, tucking her face into your shoulder. You could feel the warm dampness of her tears soaking into your shirt, but you didn’t mind, not when she was so clearly in pain. 

As she cried, you rubbed her back gently, murmuring that it was going to be okay, and after a few more minutes of her weeping quietly, she pulled back, rubbing her face with her sleeves. You felt oddly guilty, because you had encouraged Ron to chase after Lavender. If you had known what you were beginning to realize, you never would have. 

“I think I’m in love with Ron,” Hermione said, a barely audible whisper above the wind that rustled the trees around you. 

You really should’ve guessed, even before she began crying, as you thought back about the way that she had acted around him during the end of last year up until now. Picking up on subtleties like a harbored crush had never been your strong suite, but it did make sense now. The quick glances she would shoot at him, the playful touches, the soft smiles when she thought no one was looking. It was...poetic, almost, falling in love with your best friend. Falling for that person who had always been there for you. 

“It’s okay,” You assured her kindly. “It’ll...it’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to.”

Hermione looked at you, her eyes rimmed with red. “Do you really believe that?” 

Did you? You nodded your affirmation, but you weren’t entirely sure if you did. It was something you wanted to believe in, if not just for the comfort of believing in  _ something _ , but you could name a handful of times in your past that things hadn’t worked out when you were so sure they would. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione told you, half-laughing, wiping her nose. 

You let out a short chuckle; only Hermione would apologize for crying. Pulling her in for another hug, you said, “It’s alright. There’s no way he won’t realize how much he’s missing by being with Lavender and not you. It’s okay.” 

Hermione nodded against you, and you held her for a moment more. You realized that you needed that affection right now nearly as much as she did. 

\------------

Saturday morning, you woke up early, the sun just beginning to peak over the rolling hills that surrounded the castle. It was one of those mornings that you truly appreciated having your own room as a Prefect, because waking up to silence was a rarity at school otherwise. It took a few moments for your sleep-addled mind to clear through the fog of tiredness, and you sat up suddenly as you remembered that today was the first meeting of Dumbledore’s Army. 

Apprehension knotted in your stomach, and you felt nervous adrenaline begin to race through your system. It was good, you reminded yourself. It was  _ good _ that you were doing this, even if it scared you half to death. You knew what the consequences could be, and there had been no shortage of examples showcasing Umbridge’s reign of terror. Though you hadn’t experienced it yourself, largely due to the fact that you wore silver and green, you had seen more than a few people walking around with violent red writing etched into the skin on the backs of their hands. Just the thought of it sent a shudder down your spine, but it wasn’t nearly enough to dissuade you from going today. 

You did have to admit that you felt rather special, being the only Slytherin in on the meeting. You also knew, though, that this meant you had to be more careful than anybody. If you let anything slip, even to your close House friends, the amount of wrath and hatred you would receive would be astronomical. Especially from Fred and George. You didn’t even want to imagine what those two would do if they suspected you gave the group up to Umbridge. 

Hermione had managed to slip every member a coin bewitched with the Protean Charm, meaning that she could send out the date and time of any upcoming meetings. The numbers on the coin’s facing would transform according to the date and time that had been set. It was quite an impressive charm, though no one expected anything less from Hermione. 

The meeting wasn’t until midafternoon, when the castle was normally at its emptiest, so you had a few hours before it started. You could already tell that the wait was going to be insufferable, but you figured you might as well be a bit productive during the wait. Sitting around and doing nothing would only make you go insane. 

Studying didn’t sound very appealing, and neither did getting in extra time on your broom when you were already sore from Pucey’s incessant training. A run, then. During the school year, you tended to not run as much as you did over the summer, but sometimes it was just nice to get out and feel the crisp autumn air pumping in and out of your lungs. 

Many students had thrown jabs at you over the years for running, claiming that it was a rather Muggle thing to do, but you didn’t really mind. Maybe it was, but you enjoyed the feeling of pushing your body, of that aching soreness the day afterwards. It made you feel calmer, too, and that was exactly what you needed today. 

Slipping on leggings, a tank top, and your running shoes, you left your dorm. The common room was empty and so were most of the corridors as you made your way out of the dungeon and out onto the grounds. The morning air still had that wonderful bite from the night before, and the grass had been frosted over with a thin layer of ice. You shivered as the low temperature met your bare arms, but you knew soon enough you’d be warm from your run. 

The burning in your lungs came quickly enough that you knew you had lost more stamina since the summer than you thought. Your ribs smarted slightly with every step, and Ron’s caution of taking it easy echoed in your ears, but it wasn’t painful enough to concern you. It made your run uncomfortable, but you pushed aside the needling pain and focused on evening out your breath, letting out a measured huff every time your foot hit the soft grass. 

Your run was pleasant, the burning in your muscles a welcome ache. Your lungs were beginning to strain with effort, but that only fueled you, making you want to push yourself even harder. The rhythmic drop of each footstep lulled you into a state of calm as the repetitive motion became almost effortless. The pleasantness didn’t last long, however. You had just reached the lake, planning on circling it a few times before continuing on, when you suddenly couldn’t pick up your foot. It stopped you dead, literally, because both feet had become encased in the sand lining the lake and you couldn’t pull them loose. You almost ended up falling face-first into the sand with your feet still stuck to the ground, but you managed to center yourself just in time. The sudden lurch of saving yourself caused you to yelp as pain shot through your side. All it took was a deep snicker coming from behind a tree for you to figure out who was behind this stupid little trick. 

Fred and George’s flaming red hair popped out from behind the trunk of a thick pinetree, their freckled faces turned up in smug grins. Anger blossomed in your chest, and you glared sharply at the pair as they left their hiding place and sauntered towards you. 

“Ah, Scales, how lucky for us,” Fred said.

“We’ve been waiting here an hour to see who would finally step on that particular bit of sand,” George continued, snarky satisfaction filling his voice. “Must be our lucky day that you were the one who ended up here. We’re trying out a new powder we just came up with for our--”

George let out an  _ oof _ as Fred elbowed him, and he shot him a dirty look before continuing. “Sprinkle it on any bit of ground and it traps the subject by sucking them in and then solidifying again.”

Of  _ course _ you would be the subject of their little experiment, even on accident. Your luck was just that terrible, apparently. “Alright, good joke. It works. Let me out,” You said impatiently as you tried to pull your left foot out again. 

Fred tapped his chin in thought, but George just smiled at you with a sarcastically sweet expression. “Now where would be the fun in that?” Fred asked. 

“I think you’ve had your stupid fun,” You shot back, resisting the urge to try and pull your feet out again. “Let me out.”

George’s eyes flickered up and down your form, and you suddenly felt self-conscious about the sweat that had begun to trickle down your face and chest. Resisting the urge to wipe away the moisture, you crossed your arms, doing your best to slyly cover up your body. Exercise clothes were far tighter than the usual flowing robes and thick sweaters Hogwarts used as their uniforms, meaning you weren’t used to having so much of your shape on display. You were also trying to put pressure on your side to relieve the screaming ache there, but it pounded incessantly.

“Well surely we shouldn’t leave her here,” George said to Fred. “It would be a shame if she missed a certain meeting this afternoon, wouldn’t it?” 

Annoyance exploded in you, and you let out a sound of outrage. “Don’t you fucking dare,” You hissed. “You can’t just leave me here.”

George looked like he was about to retort, when suddenly, ice-cold water crashed over you, and you gasped in shock as it doused you. It was like jumping a lake full of snow run-off; the same shocking, breath-stealing initial impact, the same cold that sunk deep into your bones almost instantly, the same gasping, half-drowning sensation as your chest contracted. Immediately, you were entirely soaked, and through the wet curtain of your now-loosened hair, you saw Fred and George standing in front of you with an expression you could only describe as  _ Oh, shit _ . The unexpected frigid temperature made it hard to breathe, and when it combined with the biting pain in your side, you had to take in short gasps of air.

“Ah, looks like we may have forgotten about that bit of the experiment,” Fred said sheepishly. “Nothing to do with the powder, just thought it would be...funny.”

You had felt anger before, of course. You had felt anger at the twins before as well, more times than you could count. This time though, the rage that erupted within you was catastrophic. 

“Fred Gideon Weasley,” You growled through gritted teeth, arms still crossed and your hand cupping your side. “Get me out, or I swear I will send an owl to your mother and tell her exactly what you’ve been doing at school this year. Including that trunk I saw you with.” Your words were harsh, threatening, but they were undercut by the way you couldn’t stop your teeth from clacking together.

Leave it to those bastards to give you hypothermia.

Paleness spread across Fred’s face, but the satisfaction that came from it lasted only a moment, because he nodded to George, who approached you, a grimace set on his mouth. He produced a nondescript, brown sack and reached in, grabbing a handful of grey powder. Still standing a bit away, he tossed the powder at your feet, and you began feeling the earth around them loosen slowly, bits of gritty sand trickling into your running shoes. 

“No, I--” 

“Scales, Fred has to go undo the enchantment with the water because he set it. Just...suck it up and let’s get this over with,” George told you grimly.

Even through the horrible chill that seemed to be seeping into your very bones, you felt a twinge of offense at his words. He really was so disgusted with you that he didn’t even want to touch you. It wasn’t as if you were some gruesomely ugly monster; not to sound full of yourself, but you had heard from plenty of people that you were actually quite nice to look at. 

“Just…” You sighed, lifting the arm on your uninjured side so that George could slide underneath it to hoist you out. “Please be careful. It hurts,” You muttered so softly he had to lean in to catch your words. 

You hated that you had to ask that, but you could tell that most, if not all, of the healing Madam Pomfrey had done to your ribs had been destroyed. 

Dropping your arms, George wrapped one of his around your back, his hand coming to rest between the bottom of your rib cage and your hip on the side of your stomach. The warmth coming from him was incredibly welcome, even though it was from  _ him _ , because your skin was pricked with goosebumps and your teeth were still chattering wildly. Though you didn’t look down, you could feel how big his hand was from the heat radiating off his skin, and you found yourself mildly shocked at the size of it; it nearly engulfed your entire side. He counted to three, and on the last beat, he hefted you out of the earth with a soft groan of effort. You could feel the muscles in his arms flexing as he did, his hand pressing into your skin lightly, and you couldn’t help the shiver that randomly hit your body. 

Once free and back on solid ground, George immediately slid his arm away from you, and the full extent of your body’s half-frozen state engulfed you again, making you wrap your arms around yourself in a shoddy attempt to keep warm. Your shoes were filled with sandy dirt, your clothes and hair were still dripping wet, and your top wasn’t providing nearly enough coverage for your taste. George had turned away from you the moment he let go, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets to stave off the bitter autumn air. It gave you a bit of privacy to check that you were decent, which, thank Merlin, you were. Mostly. You had never envied him more as you stood there, feeling as though ice had invaded your blood, as he huddled into the comfort of his jacket.

Fred trotted back to the two of you, claiming he had erased the enchantment, but you still took a few stiff steps away from where you had been stuck. The wind picked up as you did, making you shiver violently, and Fred sent a pitiful glance your way. 

“Georgie, give her your jacket.”

George turned to him, indignation clear across his features. “You’ve gone bloody mad! Why the hell would I do that?”

“C’mon, it’s the least we can do.”

“Give her yours since you’re feeling so damn charitable!”

“I’m not wearing a shirt underneath, you git. Just give her your jacket.”

“But I’ll freeze.” 

“No, you won’t, you absolute wuss. Look at her. She’s  _ actually _ freezing.”

You stood there, watching their conversation bounce back and forth like a Quaffle between Chasers running a passing drill. It was quite a sight to see the two of them fight. They didn’t do it often, because usually they were on the exact same page as the other. You had heard some people say twins had telepathy or some sort of special magic that connected them, but you just thought they were so similar that it only made sense.

Not that there weren’t clear differences between the two; Fred was more hot-headed usually, all spice and sunshine, but George? George was more of a mystery, even though you had known him for nearly six years. He was...darker, sort of. More subdued. He was the quieter of the two, and you could always see him overthink things that Fred just went ahead and  _ did _ . Maybe it was because he had never let you in, but you found yourself realizing as they argued that perhaps you didn’t know George as well as you thought. 

“Fine, you fucking git,” George snapped, shucking off his worn maroon zip-up over his shoulders and tossing it at you unceremoniously. He was left in a long sleeve flannel that honestly looked rather cozy, and he crossed his arms over himself, stamping his feet to work up some of the warmth he had just lost back into his body. 

Barely catching the zip-up, you stared blankly at it for a moment, shocked, before George huffed. “If you don’t put that on right now, I’m coming over there and taking it back. I don’t care if you’re about to freeze.” 

You hastily slipped the sleeves on and tugged it around your shivering frame, nearly sighing at the snug heat of the thick fabric. The sleeves were so long they hung past your fingers, and you had to roll the cuffs up three times just to free your hands. As you zipped it up, George’s unique smell of broom wax and cinnamon wafted towards you, and, though you hated to admit it, it wasn’t the worst smell in the world. Your numb fingers struggled with the zipper, fumbling a few times before getting it to latch and you pulled it up quickly, wanting to be cocooned in its warmth as soon as possible.

Your damp hair was still dripping icy splashes of water down your neck, but the sweater was a vast improvement over your previous condition. It hadn’t stopped your teeth from clacking together violently, though, and Fred looked you over, worry lining his eyes. 

“Scales, you alright?” 

You nodded, though your shivering was a clear indicator of just how cold you still were. The jacket was wonderful, but your clothes were still sopping wet and you had a feeling that until you got out of them you wouldn’t feel warm again. 

Like he had read your mind, George muttered, “Her clothes are still wet, idiot. She’s going to be frozen until we get her out of them.”

As cold as you were, you choked out a laugh at George’s words. He looked at you, confused, and it occurred to you that you had never laughed because of him before. Or, you had never let him  _ see _ that you had. It was a bit immature of you to take his statement as something inappropriate when that’s not how he meant it, but your brain was half-frozen along with your body, apparently. 

“Alrighty, Scales, let’s get you inside. If you find George funny, I’m seriously concerned about you,” Fred joked, and he and George, after shoving Fred roughly for his comment, walked you to the castle, your muscles stiff with cold. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it feels as though i've been starting off every chapter lately with an apology, but i really am sorry for the lagging updates! sometimes life is just shit and i lose motivation to write. this is a bit of a filler chapter, but still has some story progression in it so i hope you enjoy! <3

The hot water that hit your skin was nearly enough to make you moan with delight as it ate away at the ice snaking beneath your skin. Your hands still trembled a bit with cold as you stood under the stream of water and continued even as you got out, your skin glowing red from the steamy shower. 

You cursed as you realized that the only dry clothing you had was George’s massive jacket, and as much as you loathed the idea of anyone else seeing you in it, you didn’t feel like having to make a trip to Madam Pomfrey because you gave yourself hypothermia. Swearing under your breath, you threw on your undergarments and slipped on his jacket, the inside deliciously soft now that you weren’t soaked with lake water. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you realized with sinking dread that you looked like you just had shower sex. Your hair was still sopping, your long legs were bare under the jacket, and your cheeks, flushed from the heat, looked as if they were glowing with post-coital satisfaction. Grabbing your soaked exercise clothes, you quickly left the Prefects’ bathroom and hurried to the dungeon, praying that everyone was still asleep. 

They weren’t.

Ignoring the myriad of stares you were receiving, you rushed as fast as possible down to the dungeon, sighing lightly once you were within the confines of the dim common room. It was empty still, to your relief. Until Zachariah turned the corner and saw you standing in the middle of the common room, your hair dripping and wearing only an oversized zip-up. 

“I was just looking for you,” He said warily, glancing you up and down. 

“Oh, um, I went for a run and then took a shower. Didn’t want to smell,” You joked, but it was a weak attempt. 

“Isn’t that Weasley’s jacket? Looks like the one he wore to the last pick-up game we all played together.” 

_Shit._

You felt your face heat, and you hoped that the color from the shower would cover it. “Oh, this? Um, found it in my trunk at the start of term. Must’ve slipped in there while I was at the Burrow this summer,” You lied quickly, but the flash of distrust in Zachariah’s eyes told you he didn’t believe you for a second. 

You didn’t really know why you felt the need to lie, because surely Zachariah would understand and he might even laugh about the whole situation with you. It wasn’t as if you had been the subject of the twins’ pranks before, but you had to admit that this was the most compromising position one of their tricks had ever left you in. 

“If you ask me, it looks like you just got fucked in the shower and couldn’t even bother to put pants on afterwards,” Zachariah accused, his face stony with skepticism. 

Fred and George were about to meet hell if their stupid antics ruined your arrangment with Zachariah, you promised yourself. “Leggings are hard to get on after showering,” You told him. “It was early enough that I figured I could just rush back to my room without anyone seeing.” 

Good, partial truths are good. 

“Or you’re just a whore like George has been saying.” 

Your jaw dropped open with disbelief and shock panged through you. “What the hell did you just say?”

“I said, maybe you are just a whore,” Zachariah repeated slowly, as if you were stupid. “Seems to me that George is getting a lot more from you than the bitchy little comments you throw at him.” 

“You’re fucking delusional if you think I would ever get with that git,” You shot back, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed, which, to be fair, you supposed you _were_. 

“And you’re fucking delusional if you think I believe that shit lie you just told me. It’s not like we’re together. You can fuck as many damn people as you want, but that doesn’t mean I want to be one of them now. Wouldn’t want to risk catching anything,” Zachariah snarled, glaring at you with fiery disgust. 

“You know what? Ron was right,” You snapped, feeling far too bold for someone who wasn’t even wearing pants. “You’re a fucking dickhead, Silver. Don’t fucking talk to me unless we’re on the pitch, or I’ll deck you so hard you see stars.” 

Zachariah laughed, but you felt a surge of pride as you saw the hesitation in his eyes. You’d only ever gotten in one fight before, but everyone knew that you had thrown some nasty punches. A Ravenclaw boy had insulted Hermione’s teeth once, and you had launched yourself at him so quickly you barely knew what you had done until fists had started flying. 

You had won, by the way. 

“Whatever. Hope George has more fun with you than I did. You really were a bit of a disappointment after all the praise most guys give you,” Zachariah said before turning and stalking off back to his bedroom. 

As you walked to your dorm, your previous burning rage simmered away to dispirited hurt. You didn’t think that Zachariah could be such a dick, but you supposed that you really didn’t know much about him besides what he liked during sex. His words upset you more than him ending things, though. It seemed as if both him and George were dead set on making you seem like you slept around with anyone who was willing, which wasn’t true at all. You had standards, very high ones; even if you didn’t, it would still be rather nasty of them to insult you so much. After _finally_ changing into your own dry clothes, you slithered under your covers, intent on taking a warm, lengthy nap before the meeting this afternoon. Reluctantly, you slipped George’s jacket on again, but only because you were still shaking slightly from the extreme cold you had been subjected to.

You woke a few hours later surrounded by the smell of cinnamon, the sun just past its highest point in the sky. The shivering had finally stopped, and you felt rested and ready for the first Dumbledore’s Army meeting, even if it caused your heartbeat to speed up as you thought about it. After spending a few minutes making yourself look like you hadn’t just slept like the dead, you snagged George’s jacket on your way out, intent on getting rid of the damn thing as soon as you could. 

Dorian had asked you to help with an essay he was struggling with as you entered the common room, but you told him you had something else you had to do. His face had fallen a bit, but you promised him to help later as you exited the dim Slytherin common room and took the winding path out of the dungeon. You noticed his eyes lingering on the maroon jacket wrapped around you, but he didn’t mention it as you practically raced out of the room. 

The thought of finally practicing _real_ defensive spells made you smile with excitement as you headed towards the Room of Requirement, making sure that no one was following you. The corridors were drafty and wonderfully empty as you neared the empty expanse of wall that hid the entrance to the Room of Requirement, and your eyes widened in shock as the metal and wood doors curled out of existence from the previously blank stone. 

Only the soft scraping of materials rubbing against one another could be heard as you waited with baited breath for the doors to finish forming. Finally, two massive, intricate doors appeared fully-formed in front of you, and you let out an amazed sigh before pushing them open and quickly popping inside, giving one last glance behind you to make sure no one had seen. 

The room was enormous, much larger than you were expecting. There was a roaring fireplace on the far wall, and the space where the doors had just been was covered in one massive mirror. Windows on either side of the fireplace showed the stormy weather outside. Harry and Ron were standing on the far side of the room, warming themselves by the fire as they spoke quietly. As you walked in, Ron’s face lit up and he called you over. You grinned back and made your way to them, the heat from the fire growing ever warmer as you neared. 

“Hey, h-wait,” Ron spoke, eyeing the jacket you were sporting. “Isn’t that George’s jacket?” 

“Oh, um, yeah,” You nodded. “He and Fred tried out one of their new magic jokes on me this morning while I was out for a run and I ended up getting drenched with lakewater. Fred made George give me his jacket so I wouldn’t freeze to death.” 

You were speaking casually, as if this happened all the time but the anger etched on Ron and Harry’s faces told you that they were almost as upset as you had been. You didn’t want to make a big deal of it, especially because George would surely give you shit about it. It had been quite a terrible ordeal though, and you found yourself shifting closer to the fire as the icy memory washed over you again. 

“I’m gonna kill them,” Ron growled. Harry nodded his agreement. “They took it way too far this time. You could’ve really been hurt! You could’ve ended up in the hospital wing! And I bet they were laughing about it the whole time, weren’t they?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. They stopped laughing once I started shivering, but George seemed more angry than anything. It’s really okay,” You assured the two of them, incredibly touched by how much they cared. “See? I’m alright.”

Ron continued grumbling curses at the twins as you looked at Harry, whose face was pale and rather distressed. 

“You look like you’re going to be sick,” You told him, nudging him gently. “C’mon Potter, you’re the chosen one! Everyone knows you’ll be the best teacher we’ve had since Lupin.”

“What if...what if people have just built up this image of me in their minds? What if I’m not as-as _heroic_ or smart or--”

You shook your head, cutting him off. “Don’t be daft. You’ve defeated Voldemort more times than any other wizard. Ever. Including Dumbledore. You are exactly the kind of person we need to lead us.”

Harry smiled at you gratefully. “Thank you. I’m just nervous.”

“And who could blame you? Even heroes get nervous,” You teased, making Harry bark out a laugh. 

A few moments passed before the first students started to trickle in, all wearing identical looks of anxious excitement. Hermione had been among the first to come, her nose and cheeks rosy from being outside in the cold. You recognized a lot of the students, but some were unfamiliar, and you could feel some simmering gazes directed at you. Perhaps it was simply your imagination, but you could’ve sworn you heard people whispering about why the hell a _Slytherin_ was here. You did your best to shrug it off, but it was getting to you more than it usually did this morning. 

Fred and George hadn’t shown up yet, and it was nearly time to start. You held onto the foolish hope that maybe they would skip the meeting altogether, but that hope was shattered when they sauntered in a few minutes late, laughing loudly. The small groups of students standing around the room looked at them as they entered, and you knew it was probably rather brash of you, but you met the twins’ eyes with an unbreaking stare as they waltzed in. 

“Nice jacket, Scales,” Fred jested as the two walked towards you and your face flushed a bright red as everyone turned to see you wrapped in George’s large jacket. 

“I would like it back, you know. Doesn’t look nearly as good on you as it does on me,” George told you as you shucked it off rather quickly, having almost forgotten that you were even wearing it. 

Wrapping the jacket in a tight ball, you flung it at him roughly.“Here you go, asshole,” You snapped at him, making him raise his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Merlin’s beard, Scales, you’re a little heated this afternoon,” George responded coolly. “What, your little dip in the lake this morning not cool you off enough?”

“C’mon Georgie, she’s just warming up to us still,” Fred joked, nudging his brother in the side. 

A few laughs bounced around the room as everyone looked on, but you paid them no mind. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this. You two could’ve really fucking hurt me.”

“Scales, we would never joke about something like that! It’s just funny that it happened to you. Now we don’t have to feel bad about it,” George told you, and you longed to smack that snide grin off his freckled face. 

Luckily, Harry began speaking before you could do anything, but you still shot the pair one last, fiery look of hatred before walking back to the fireplace to stand beside Harry, Ron, and Hermione. 

“Alright, uh,” Harry began, his voice a bit shaky. “We all know why we’re here. I don’t think we have to remind you all that this needs to be kept incredibly secret?”

A few people nodded and Harry took that as a green light to continue. “Great. So I thought we’d start with _Expelliarmus_ for today.” Groans rose from the group, but he spoke again. “I know, I know, it’s incredibly basic, but I...I defeated Voldemort with that spell last spring when--after the Triwizard Tournament. I think it’s important that we all get it down perfectly, because it’s incredibly useful.”

The hushed whispers that rose felt nearly deafening as you saw Cho in the back corner, tears glistening in her eyes, which were visible even from where you were standing. Your heart hurt for her, for the loss she had experienced so young. Cedric’s death was all the more reason that you needed to learn to fight back, though. None of you were safe, and losing him had only cemented that fact. 

“Alright, everyone please pair up and start practicing. I think we have even numbers, so everyone should have a partner,” Harry instructed, and everyone rushed to grab their friends. You stood there a moment longer, awash in the sorrow of Cedric’s death, but that moment was all it took for you to realize you were the last one left without a partner. Everyone had begun shuffling into place, finding any open bit of floor to stand across their partner in. 

“Guess it’s you and me, Scales,” George spoke from beside you, making you jump. 

“What? Why aren’t you with Fred?” You asked, scanning the crowd for that familiar red shock of hair that normally stood next to its twin. 

George rolled his eyes. “Dumb git’s been chasing after Angelina since last year. He got to her before Harry even finished talking.” 

As George spoke, your eyes landed on Fred and Angelina, the former grinning devilishly at the beautiful girl across from him, who was rolling her eyes but trying to fight the smile that was threatening to curl onto her mouth. 

You sighed dejectedly, an apprehensive feeling twisting your stomach. “Fine. But if you try anything, George, and I mean _anything_ , I don’t care if you think it makes me a snitch, I will tell your mother,” You threatened, knowing that willingly entering into a quasi-duel with George was one of the stupidest things you could do, even if you were merely practicing a disarming spell. 

“You think so highly of yourself. I’m not going to do anything to you,” George said. “Just go stand over there and try and take my wand. I came here to learn, same as you.”

“Whatever,” You grumbled, walking a few paces away before turning around and facing him again. “Ready?”

“Any day now, Scales,” George answered, lifting his wand as if he were going to attack you. 

“ _Expelliarmus_!” You shouted, your voice mixed with the other students’ as they yelled the same command. 

George’s wand soared out of his outstretched hand and towards you. You grabbed it out of the air triumphantly, grinning proudly at your success. George’s face soured with bitter displeasure, and he came over to you, snatching his wand back, his cinnamon and broom wax scent wafting over you as he neared. 

“It’s just _Expelliarmus_. Don’t look so proud of yourself. First-years can do this,” George muttered. 

“Then why don’t you go do it, you git? Since you’re so talented and all,” You snapped, your smile fading from your face. Did he really have to take the joy out of _everything_?

George returned to his place, and you stood as if you were about to attack him, your wand pointing directly at his smug, freckled face. He shouted the spell, flourishing his wand, and yours flew out of your hand faster than you could process. Between one blink and the next, it left your hand and landed in George’s, his long fingers curling around the wood. Resentful admiration flooded you when his spell worked so quickly; you hadn’t known he was any good at spells. 

“Well done, George! Looks like you’ve got this down already,” Harry complimented, patting the tall ginger on the back appreciatively. “Practice it a few more times and then maybe the two of you can move on to something a little more challenging.”

Harry walked away, and you took the opportunity to glance around the room at everyone else’s progress. To your surprise, it seemed that other than Ginny, Luna, and Hermione, you and George were the only two who had successfully disarmed their partners. 

You went to retrieve your wand from George, who was looking at you as if you had something rather disgusting on your face. He was twirling your wand deftly between his fingers as you approached, and his playfulness irked you far more than it really should have. It annoyed you even more as he fumbled it and your wand clattered to the ground, bouncing twice on the stone. Groaning softly, you bent over to pick it up at the same time George did. You reached your wand first, but only by a short moment, so George’s wide hand ended up covering yours as the two of you tried to pick up your wand. His hand almost entirely dwarfed yours, making a small shiver run down your spine at the heat of his skin against your typically icy fingers. 

As if the contact had burnt the both of you, you both pulled back quickly, causing your head to bump into George’s nose as you stood up faster than he could. Your head cracked against his nose, the bone and cartilage crunching sickeningly as your skull collided with his face. George let out a rough bark of pain as you straightened, his hand coming up to cup his nose that was starting to drip bright droplets of crimson. He took a step back, sitting down roughly on the grey slate floor. 

“George, I am so sorry, I didn’t know--”

“It’s fine,” George replied through gritted teeth. “Just fix it and we can keep working.” The blood was beginning to leak through the fingers of the hand that covered his reddening nose, and you couldn’t help but be transfixed by the shining burgundy as he did his best to staunch the flow.

“Shouldn’t I go get Harry? Or-”

“It’s not a big deal. Fix. It.” George growled, looking up at you, and you gulped, nodding quickly. 

No one seemed to notice that you had just accidentally broken George’s nose, and you didn’t know whether you were grateful for that or not. You did feel rather guilty; it hadn’t been on purpose at all, and you could see that it hurt, even though George was trying to pretend that it didn’t. 

“Ready?” You asked, lifting your wand to point it at his dripping nose. You hoped the tremor in your hand was unnoticeable.

“Just get on with it,” George commanded, his voice gravelly with repressed pain. 

Taking a small breath to center yourself, you gripped your wand tightly and softly muttered, “ _Episkey_.”

George let out a small huff of agony as a quiet _crack_ sounded, his nose straightening almost immediately. The bleeding stopped quickly, leaving only trails of drying blood painting his rosy mouth and ivory hand. You winced as you heard the sound of his nose resetting, but you let out a tiny breath of relief as George wrinkled his nose slightly to make sure it was healed. 

George looked at you, and you must’ve been mistaken, because you thought you saw a bit of impressed appreciation in his golden eyes. “I’d say thanks, but seeing as you were the one who broke my nose in the first place--”

“You’ve got blood all over your face,” You interrupted, not wanting to hear his complaint. “You should probably go wash it off.”

It seemed that the Room of Requirement was rather adept at mind-reading, because a bowl of water and a washcloth appeared on the floor next to where George was sitting. He grabbed the cloth and used it first to get the red liquid off his hand, then lifted it up to his mouth, rubbing roughly at the gory skin. His movements only seemed to smear the crimson around, and you wanted to clean up this mess before anyone noticed, so you crouched down in front of him, holding your hand out for the cloth. 

“Let me help you,” You told him.

“No, I’ve got it.”

You sighed, frustration pricking at you as you took in the flaking brown blood speckling his mouth. “No, you don’t. Let go of your stupid pride for two seconds and let me help you so we can get back to practicing before you have to tell anyone that I broke your nose.”

George didn’t respond; he just held out the rag to you like it was the biggest inconvenience in the world. You took it from him and dipped it in the bowl of water before bringing it up to his mouth. Realizing you’d have to provide yourself with a bit more stability to clean him off, you placed your other hand lightly over his cheek and jaw, ignoring the way he flinched at your touch. Bits of stubble pricked your hand cupping his face as you worked, wiping the cloth over his plush lips, trying to clean as quickly as you could. Your heart was racing oddly fast, but you were sure it was only because you wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. 

George had gone entirely still after you touched him, and you could feel his eyes studying your face even as you kept your gaze glued to the mess on his mouth and nose. Using the little moisture that remained, you pressed the rag to the space between his nose and mouth, swiping lightly, the rusty stain fading slowly as you worked. You could feel the warm whisper of George’s breath on your hands, making your cold fingers tingle with heat. For some reason, it took much more effort than it should have to keep your eyes from tracing the supple curve of his rosy lips. George’s hands were grabbing fistfuls of his sweater, the veins in his hands flexing and pulsing as he tightened his grip with each of your swipes, and you knew it wasn’t from pain. Your spell had worked exceedingly well; that much was very clear as you were leaned so close to George. Once again, that strange feeling of offense rose in you. 

_Were you really so terrible to be around?_

After a few more painstaking passes, you lifted the dirtied rag to see how his face was faring. To your relief, the bits of dried, brown blood were finally all gone, leaving George’s fair skin just as it had been before you had hit him. Your eyes flitted up to his and you found his warm amber irises focused intently on you. George’s eyes darted between yours once, twice, before you realized your hand was still rested on his cheek. You tore it away suddenly, thinking that to anyone who didn’t know the two of you, the gesture looked almost affectionate. Finding anywhere else to look besides at George, you tossed the stained rag into the bowl of pinkish water and stood up, wiping your hands on your pants. 

“There, good as new,” You said, your voice cracking the slightest bit on the last word. 

George stood up as well, apparently anxious to get as far away from you as possible, and you shared the sentiment. Being that close to George for that long was unpleasant at best, and you felt as though a hand was gripping your lungs, making it difficult to take in full breaths. 

Harry, ever the savior, spoke loudly over the rippling conversation and exclamations that had been echoing the room. “Alright, I think that that’s enough practice for today! Really well done, all of you. We’ll probably pick up where we left off next time.”

“Please leave in groups,” Hermione added, nodding at the various exits the room provided. “It’ll be far too suspicious if we all leave at once. Go in groups of five or so and wait a few minutes after people have left to leave.”

Affirmative answers rippled throughout the room, and people began splitting up into little groups, similar looks of anxiety painting everyone’s faces. George was still near you, and you felt rather awkward as Ron’s eyes caught the pair of you standing like you had just done something wrong. 

“Oi, George, get a move on!” Fred called, waving his twin over to himself and Angelina. “Angie’s got a friend she wants you to meet!”

George raised his eyebrows, starting towards his brother without so much as a nod goodbye in your direction. Angelina was curled up under Fred’s arm, and there was a pretty Ravenclaw standing next to her who giggled obnoxiously at something George said upon his approach. It shouldn’t have annoyed you.

It _didn’t_.

“Hey, nice work,” Ron said, clapping you on the shoulder. You jumped as he did, not having seen him approach while watching George walk away, but Ron barely noticed. “Saw you take George’s wand right out of his hand on the first try. Bet that wiped that smirk off the git’s face!”

You let out a noncommittal sound, noticing as you joined Harry, Hermione, and Ron in their wait to leave that you still had some flecks of rusted blood painting your fingernails.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its ~finals time~ for me but i really wanted to get this chapter out! the love you guys have been showing my work has just been so incredible i can barely believe it! enjoy<33

The excitement of Dumbledore’s Army vanished almost immediately two days later, when Umbridge declared that not only were Quidditch games to be suspended for the time being, but that in her class, you had an essay due that was so lengthy even Hermione’s face paled at the prospect of it. 

You had never heard such horrified outrage from the Hogwarts student body, with the most colorful anger coming from the twins, whose faces matched the flaming red shade of their hair when the announcement echoed throughout the castle. 

Mind you, you hadn’t been with the two when the announcement came, but Ron’s vivid reenactment later that night while you were studying with him, Dorian, Eva, and Harry was quite the sight. You were all sitting in the Gryffindor common room, which wasn’t your usual place to study, but the library had been packed nearly to the brim. The fire was crackling invitingly, making it hard to focus on the dull essay you all had to write. Dorian was laying on a couch with Eva, and Ron and Harry were sitting on an adjacent couch with you sitting on the ground in front of it so that you could write more easily on the little coffee table in front of you.

The sky outside was pricked with silver stars, the moon half-covered with dark clouds. It had been a long day, one full of studying and scrambling to take down as many notes as you could in almost every class. It seemed as though your professors enjoyed watching their students trudge, stressed and bleary-eyed, into their classrooms every morning judging by how much work they had been piling on. 

“I’ve never heard someone swear so much in my entire life,” Ron told you, his eyes wide with shock. “If Mum had heard them, those two would never step foot outside the Burrow again!”

Everyone let out a laugh; you had no doubt Ron’s story wasn’t far from the truth, even with all the dramatics. Fred and George loved Quidditch more than anything in the entire world. You weren’t all that pleased, either. Umbridge’s announcement had made your urge to hex her until she couldn’t walk even stronger than it had been, which you hadn’t thought possible. 

“What are we going to do, though? I mean, we can’t just  _ not _ play Quidditch for the rest of the year!” Dorian whined, his head resting on Eva’s lap, his essay having been abandoned almost the moment the study session had begun. “That mean old bitch is probably just angry a broom can’t lift her fat ass off the ground.”

“Come on,” Eva said, flicking Dorian’s face and making him bat her hand away as you and Ron laughed at his comment. “It’s not that bad. It’s just Quidditch.”

Ron, Harry, Dorian, and you all turned towards the girl, your faces painted with identical expressions of incredulous disbelief.

“ _ Just _ Quidditch?” Harry asked, shaking his head. “Tasteless, truly tasteless.”

Eva rolled her eyes. “I’m just happy I won’t have to deal with you guys smelling like you haven’t showered in a month after every practice. I really don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” She said, shrugging. 

“Plus, that means you won’t have to see Zachariah so much,” Eva added, giving you a pointed glance. 

You didn’t even bother wondering how she knew; Eva just had a way of knowing everything. You shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to you either way, but secretly you were relieved your time with that dickhead had been lessened. Ever since your less than pleasant interaction with him on Saturday, you had been doing everything you could to avoid him. You didn’t  _ miss _ him, to your relief. At least, not in the emotional, pining way that suggested you harbored stronger feelings for him outside of a quick fuck. 

Thank the stars. 

“Wait, why wouldn’t you want to see Silver? Thought you and him were quite... _ friendly _ ,” Ron said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 

You smacked Ron’s leg, making him yelp. “Not anymore, you twat. Turns out he was a massive git who loves jumping to conclusions.”

The painting that served as an entrance to the common room swung open as you spoke, Fred and George popping in through it. “Wow, what an incredible surprise,” Fred said sarcastically, his nose and cheeks flushed red from the cold they had apparently just been in. 

“Really, who would've guessed,” George joined in, a similar blush dusting his features. “The infamous Zachariah Silver, being an asshole. I think I might die of shock.” His voice was thick with sarcasm, humor glinting in his brown eyes.

You shot a glare at the two of them as Dorian tried to disguise his laughly poorly with a hacking cough. “It’s your fault, you know,” You informed them, standing up, but staying near the couch Ron and Harry sat on.

Fred looked at George, confusion twisting his face. “ _ Our _ fault? Please, Scales, how in the hell is it our fault Silver didn’t want to put up with you anymore?”

“You can’t blame the fact that he finally got sick of you on us, you know,” George said. “That’s quite the stretch, even for you.” 

“If you two idiots hadn’t dumped all that lake water on me, I wouldn’t have shown up in my common room wearing your jacket,” You told them, pinning your gaze on George. His face remained cool, unbothered, as you spoke. “He thought--he got pissed I was wearing someone else’s jacket.”

You left out the part that you hadn’t been wearing anything other than the jacket, which probably was a rather important detail, but you didn’t feel like letting George know that. Telling him you had worn his jacket and nothing else felt...well, it felt  _ gross _ . 

“Oh, so you mean he thought you had hooked up with George,” Dorian interjected, earning a quick smack from Eva that sounded rather aggressive. “Merlin’s beard, woman! What?” 

“There’s no way,” George shot back. “Even that idiot should know that-”

But he stopped as soon as he saw the red blooming on your face. 

“Bloody hell,” George swore, an expression of pure disgust on his face. “Count on you to--”

“Me?” You asked incredulously. “How is this my fault?”

George rolled his eyes. “Really? You wore my jacket, even after you showered. Why the hell did you do that? You should’ve known someone was going to see you and assume the worst, especially since it’s  _ you _ .”

You gritted your teeth, really not wanting to go where George was headed, but your temper got the best of you. “Because, you dick, all my clothes were still sopping wet with freezing lake water, so your jacket was all I had to wear after I showered.”

George’s freckled face blushed and Fred blinked in surprise. “So you were--”

“ _ Only _ wearing my jacket?” George finished.

You looked down, suddenly finding a very interesting spot on the floor to pick at. You regretted it immensely if that counted for anything; if you had known it would’ve turned into this, you would’ve just chosen hypothermia.

“Well, shit, no wonder he was upset. You probably looked like you had  _ just _ fucked George in the shower a few minutes before,” Fred said. 

Dorian snorted and you had the sudden urge to give him another smack. “It isn’t funny,” you insisted, looking up and seeing bemused expressions on everyone’s faces except George, who was looking rather distraught. You were sure you were sporting a similar face. 

“I mean,” Ron began, “It is a  _ little  _ funny.”

You and George both shot furious looks at the ginger, who held his hands up as if to say,  _ What? It is. _

“I don’t see how any of you think this is amusing,” George snapped. “The lot of you would be just as disgusted if someone said you’d been with someone like Scales.”

_ Ouch. _

Your face twisted with confused hurt, and everyone’s smiles dropped off their faces as George spoke. Ron sent a sharp look at Fred, and the two of them seemed to have a quick silent conversation before Fred said, “C’mon mate, that’s a bit far, don’t you think?”

George looked at you, his nose wrinkled with disdain. “No,  _ mate _ , I don’t.” 

“What exactly do you mean by  _ someone like me _ ?” You demanded, though you weren’t entirely sure you really wanted to know the answer. The words had already left your mouth though, and George took the chance quicker than a lion pouncing on its prey. 

“I meant, why would I want to be with someone so  _ easy _ ?” George snarled, his eyes bright with anger. 

You lunged at him suddenly, intent on smacking that snarl right off his stupid, freckled face, but Ron and Harry grabbed at you. You tried to wrench yourself out of their grasp, but they had built an unfortunate amount of muscle up over the summer and you could no longer weasel out of their arms. 

George scoffed at you, making anger roar loudly in your ears. “What, you think you can hit me? I’d never let  _ you _ get within arms’ reach, you annoying little prick.”

“Don’t you have any other damn insults? Or are you so stupid that’s all you can think of?” You growled. “Calling me a whore doesn’t bother me anymore.”

Not quite true, but no one needed to know that.

“Maybe don’t act like one. Then people wouldn’t whisper behind your back all sorts of nasty shit that probably isn’t that far from the truth.” George shot back.

“Oh, really? Like what?”

“Like you’ve been with so many people you--”

“Alright, Georgie, I think we’ve had our fun,” Fred said, attempting to bring a joking lilt into his voice, but you could tell he was a bit wary of the tension between the two of us. “C’mon, things to do, people to see, all of that.”

He didn’t respond, but he let Fred lead him out of the room. Not before he gave you one last glance that told you George wasn’t about to let this go, even though it wasn’t your fault at all. Harry and Ron let you go, the three of you sitting back down on the couch. 

_ Asshole _ .

There was a moment of heavy, uncomfortable silence before Dorian spoke. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“It’s not a big deal,” you said with a wave of your hand, but you could feel the warm prick of tears building behind your eyes. 

It was easier to focus on the loose thread unraveling from the couch cushion you were sitting on than to look at the face of your friends, undoubtedly sporting varying looks of pity and worry. It wasn’t a big deal, you told yourself; you shouldn’t be so upset. 

George said nasty things like that to you all the time. It had just seemed so... _ personal _ , like George was offended that anyone could ever consider thinking of the two of you together. You didn’t like the idea any more than he did, but were you really that bad? It certainly confused you as well how much everyone seemed to care about who you got with. It wasn’t as if you were the only one who did it; not by a long shot. George, however, seemed to think that you having fun was some sort of affront to God. 

What a pretentious prick. From what you’d heard from older students, George wasn’t so innocent himself.

George’s comments bounced around your head, his fiery glare burned into your mind. You could feel the tears threatening to spill over and you hastily wiped at your eyes, pretending you had gotten an eyelash in one of them. 

“Why don’t you guys go to the library and find out what the hell we’re supposed to be writing about? We can stay here and get started on the first bit,” Eva offered, giving Ron a pointed glance and then gesturing to you. 

“Oh, oh, sure! Yeah, let’s go do that,” Ron answered, standing and pulling you up with him. 

As obvious as it was, you appreciated Eva’s effort to let you be alone for a while. 

You followed Ron out of the common room, praying that your emotions would stay put until you were away from the well-meaning but incredibly prying eyes of your other friends. You didn’t really like to cry in front of anyone, but Ron had seen you do it plenty; that was just one of the parts of being such close friends. 

“I’m fine, really,” you said, even as you let Ron encircle you in a warm hug that smelled like spiced cologne and parchment. 

“George is an absolute dick. I have no idea what’s gotten into him. He shouldn’t say those things to you,” Ron told you, rubbing small circles on your back as you tried to stop the tears from filling your eyes and making your nose run. 

_ Stupid. It was stupid of you to let George get to you like that _ . You reprimanded yourself as you wiped a fresh wave of tears away. When had you gotten so sensitive?

You pulled away from Ron gently, offering him a weak smile. “It’s not a big deal,” you assured him. “He says that stuff to me all the time. I should be used to it.”

Ron raised his eyebrows at you. “No, you shouldn’t. Even Fred isn’t that terrible to you, and he’s normally the one who can’t shut up even when he knows he should. I think...I think you and George may need to talk about whatever is going on between the two of you. Alone, without me or Fred or anyone.”

“There isn’t anything going on between the two of us. We just don’t like each other, Ron. That’s how it’s always been,” you said, even as you balked at the idea of being alone in a room with George with the way he had been treating you this year. “I dunno why he’s so much more bothered by me this year, but I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

“Did you…” Ron started, looking at me cautiously. “You didn’t...y’know,  _ say _ anything to him recently that would make him act like this?”

Your mouth dropped open in shock. “Seriously?” You asked, appalled at his question. “Are you really asking me what  _ I  _ did to make George hate me so much? Bloody fucking hell, you’re sounding like everyone else right now!”

“Calm down, I was just asking! George tends to hold grudges, that’s all,” Ron said defensively. 

“You think I don’t know that? I’ve only talked to him maybe three or four times since the start of term, and most of those have been him and Fred giving me shit for no reason,” you said, annoyance lining your voice. 

You couldn’t believe that Ron was insinuating George’s terrible treatment of you was your fault. You had never done anything to either twin, not even in retaliation for all the nasty pranks they had played on you over the years. 

“Well, maybe you said something and he took it--”

“You know what? I’ll go to the damn library myself,” you snapped, in utter disbelief at the fact that Ron was really trying to pin this on you. 

“Wait, listen, that’s not--” Ron tried to protest, but frankly, you weren’t interested in hearing anymore. 

You knew you weren’t really that upset at Ron. He was only trying to help, but he was going about it in a way that made you want to deliver a quick kick to his shins. Still, you left, needing some space to calm down so you wouldn’t lash out at anyone who didn’t deserve it. Your temper had always been quite the spectacle, but you had told yourself this year that it would be better, that you would work on it. 

It was...not going quite as well as you wanted. 

More time had passed than you realized, the library having emptied almost completely by the time you arrived. Honestly, you couldn’t even recall what subject Umbridge had assigned for the essay, but you still found solace in the quietude of the massive library. The ambient sounds of crackling fire places and the soft  _ whoosh _ of books flying through the air back to their shelves subdued the rage that had been bubbling up inside you. 

As you walked in, Madam Pince, the kind, if rather strict, librarian looked up from her book, her spectacles balancing precariously on the tip of her nose. “Can I help you my dear?”

You turned and gave her a small smile, shaking your head. “No, not really. Just...browsing, I guess.”

“Well then, you’d probably better get going. Curfew starts in just a few minutes and Do- _ some _ professors are being rather strict about enforcing it this year,” she told you, not entirely hiding the grimace that passed over her sharp features.

“Already? But it’s not quite eight,” you responded, a bit confused. Curfew was normally at ten, even on weekdays. 

Madam Pince looked at you concernedly. “Didn’t you hear? Professor Umbridge issued one of her formal decrees it’s eight at now, with no exceptions. Not even Prefects.”

_ Shit.  _ You had seen the aftermath of Umbridge’s detentions; she apparently had no qualms at all about corporal punishment. 

“Thank you for letting me know,” you responded, already turning to leave. “Really, I-it’s a life saver!”

Madam Pince smiled at you, a kind light in her eyes. “Be quick my dear, and be quiet, and you’ll be alright.”

You nodded in response and turned quickly, forcing yourself to walk even as you wanted to run. Getting caught by Umbridge out after curfew...the very thought sent shivers rippling down your spine as you cautiously entered the hallway. Taking a few glances up and down the corridor, you slipped out of the library and, with hurried anxiety, began making your way to the dungeon. 

Luckily the dungeon wasn’t far at all from the library, but it still was a long enough walk that you could feel your stomach coiling with nerves. Every sound made you jump, and as you rounded the next corner, you nearly let out a yelp as you saw a figure heading towards you. The hallways were dark, but the head of bright red hair was like a beacon even in the dim light. The fact that it wasn’t Umbridge was only a temporary consolation as you moved closer, trying to peer through the darkness and figure out who it was.

_ Please be Fred, or Ron, or anyone but… _

“What the hell are you doing?” George asked, his voice far too loud for your taste. 

“Curfew’s at--” you began, but the chiming toll of a bell interrupted you, signaling that it had just turned eight. “Fuck.”

“What? Now? But it’s always been at ten!” George hissed at you, like it had somehow been your doing that the time had changed. 

“Umbridge just changed it! Madam Pince told me only a few minutes ago,” you told him, lowering your voice to a harsh whisper. 

“I didn’t hear anything about it!” George responded, his voice still a normal volume.

You winced at how loud his words seemed now, and you hoped Umbridge or Filch weren’t anywhere near. “Well, you better keep it down, or-”

“Hush,” George whispered suddenly.

“Me? You were the one-”

George glanced quickly behind you, then looked at you. “I hear footsteps.” He glanced down quickly at the piece of parchment he had been holding, one that seemed like some sort of map. Swearing softly, he folded the paper up and tucked it in his back pants pocket. 

Your stomach plummeted. The corridor the two of you were in offered no hiding places beyond shoving yourself behind the flimsy curtain that hung in front of the window. “We’ve got to move then!”

“No, we don’t have time,” George muttered, more to himself than you. 

As he stopped speaking, you could also hear the clicking footsteps of a woman wearing heels headed your way. You knew who it was instantly; only Umbridge wore anything with heels. Shoving his hand in his jacket pocket, George produced a little bag. He dumped the contents out on his palm, extending it out to you. On his hand rested two opalescent candies, no bigger than a penny. 

“Here, eat this,” George told you.

You looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted horns. “ _ What? _ No way in hell!” You hissed, shooting a quick look behind you to make sure no one was approaching. “I am  _ not _ taking anything from you.”

George rolled his eyes, huffing softly. “Scales, I swear to Merlin that this isn’t a trick, okay? Fred and I just finished testing these. They make you invisible for a few minutes, then they wear off and everything is back to normal. I’m trying to  _ help _ you, not trick you!”

Quickly, you considered your options. On one hand, you could take the sweet from George and hope that you didn’t die or grow a tail; on the other, you could get surely caught by Umbridge and find out exactly what happened in all those detentions that had left students with that hollow, hurt look in their eyes.

“Fine, but if--”

“Yes, I know, you’ll curse me or tell Mum. Whatever,” George growled as you took the candy from him and popped it in your mouth. 

It didn’t taste good at all; it was rather chalky, and made your nose wrinkle with the poor flavor as you swallowed it quickly. Almost instantly, you saw the color draining from your being as if it were being erased. First your hands and feet, then your legs and arms, and finally your torso all faded away as if you were nothing. You could feel your feet on the ground and your clothes against your skin, even though you appeared not to exist at all. If you had had more time to contemplate it, it surely would’ve made you feel a touch of existential dread about the whole ordeal.

George was fading too, right as Umbrige’s horrid, toad-like face turned the corner, her beady eyes scanning the corridor for any rogue students. You were frozen, still standing in the middle of the hallway as she approached. An invisible hand grabbed yours and tugged you towards the side of the corridor. You collided with a warm body right before you thought you were going to smash into the wall, which was an entirely odd sensation because you could only feel George, not see him. He clamped a hand over your mouth as you protested his actions, barely letting a squeak escape you before you quieted. George backed the two of you into the wall and you pressed yourself against it, willing yourself to somehow turn entirely flat.

There were paintings on either side of you that seemed to be asleep, and you prayed that they would stay that way. You had a sneaking suspicion that the paintings could see through the sort of magic that was disguising you and George, and some of them had a dreadful habit of running their mouths just to get students in trouble. 

Umbridge’s gaze snapped to where you and George were standing at the faint sound, and you cursed yourself as she slowly approached. You knew if you were caught that George would never stop making you regret it, so you stilled, even holding your breath as the bug-eyed professor neared. You hoped she couldn’t smell the lingering traces of jasmine-scented perfume that you had put on this morning. Or that she couldn’t smell the hint of broom wax that was filling your nose as George’s hand remained clamped over your mouth. He didn’t even dare to drop your other hand from his grasp, both of you too frightened of making any movement at all. 

The few moments that Umbridge stood near you, her pink kitten heels almost toe-to-toe with your shoes, seemed to last an eternity. You could feel your lungs burning as they longed for oxygen, but you didn’t dare make a single noise for fear that Umbridge would reach out with her chubby, ringed fingers and feel you. Next to you, George was practically a statue, his lithe chest not moving an inch either. Your heartbeat was roaring in your ears as Umbridge took one last piercing sweep of where you and George were standing. 

Seemingly satisfied that there wasn’t anything there, she turned, marching away to continue her patrol. The two of you waited a few moments more before relaxing. George only dropped his hand from your mouth after Umbridge had rounded the corner and appeared to be well on her way.

You took a gasping breath, feeling the ache in your chest subside as oxygen finally reached your lungs. “Holy shit,” you breathed, your heart still racing. 

George nodded. “That was way too close.”

Adrenaline had electrified every nerve in your body, making your hands shake as you lifted them up to see they were slowly fading back into view. It was like watching a painter work in the third dimension. Really, it was rather interesting to watch. You found yourself feeling a bit impressed about the advanced magic taking place.

You would  _ never _ tell George that, though. Maybe Fred, but never George. 

“Thank you,” you said, still keeping your voice low in case Filch wasn’t far behind that vile pink monster. It seemed strange to be grateful to George for anything, but there was no way you would’ve gotten away from Umbridge without him. 

George glanced at you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Um, no problem,” he responded, clearly shocked at your expression of gratitude. “Consider it retribution for...well, everything that happened this past weekend, I guess.”

Your confusion must’ve shown on your face because George continued. “Guess Fred and I did take it a bit far with the lake and even though Silver’s a massive git, still sorry about that as well,” George mumbled. 

An apology? From a Weasley twin? You’d never thought you’d live to see the day. 

“Oh, it’s...it’s fine, I guess,” you told him. “I guess Ron was right about him anyways, which I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of.”

George snorted, quiet enough still that you didn’t feel the urge to hush him. “No, you won’t. And...don’t mention the candy, okay? Fred and I are still working on some things and no one else knows.”

You raised your eyebrows. “I’m the only one who knows you two have been working on things?” 

“No, but no one else knows as much as you do,” George explained. 

Recalling the massive trunk you had caught the two of them with at the beginning of the year, you realized what had been in there surely had to do with all the work the twins had been doing over the past year. “I won’t say anything,” you found yourself promising unexpectedly. 

“Great,” George said, and the awkward, strained air that usually sat between the two of you quickly returned as the threat of discovery faded away. “Well…”

“Yeah, probably should get going,” you agreed, not wanting to have another close call. Turning to leave, George spoke as you retreated.

“Scales, mind staying out of trouble so I don’t have to save your ass again? I’d rather not have to waste any more of my hard work on you,” George whisper-yelled, but there was only a bit of sharpness in his voice. 

You scowled, throwing a vulgar gesture up over your shoulder at him, and you heard a snort of laughter from behind you as the two of you parted ways. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter's a bit long!! thank you guys for your patience about my upload schedule, but its the last week of my semester so i'll have much more free time starting saturday! enjoy<3

The shock of being saved from certain misfortune by none other than George Weasley was a phenomenon that you still could not get over, even by the end of the week. You hadn’t told anyone what had happened, though. Not even Ron. You weren’t keeping it a secret, not really; you just felt like it wasn’t worth it to get anyone’s hopes up that things would be better between you and George. 

You had thought that, in a moment of incredible foolishness, until the day after when George resumed his usual biting remarks and snide looks that made you want to shove him off the Astronomy tower. Most of that day was spent chastising yourself for being so dimwitted; George had only saved you because his ass had been on the line as well. George would never save you out of anything other than pure selfishness or poor timing. 

Even as you were repeating that mantra in your head at dinner that day, you saw George, sitting with the girl Angelina had introduced him after the first D.A. meeting. Her name was Khaleia, if you recalled correctly. A sixth-year Ravenclaw, smart, rather proficient with Charms, and yes, incredibly pretty. Just George’s type. 

Surely that was why he was being so kind to her, even going as far as to offer her his jacket when she had shivered during the beginning of dinner. Yes, _that_ jacket, the one he had given you. A sharp bitterness stung you as you watched him give up his warmth so easily. He had put up much more of a fuss with you, and you had actually _needed_ the stupid thing. It seemed as though you just weren’t pretty enough for him to be kind to you. Apparently, George didn’t mind being cold if the girl he gave his jacket to looked as ethereal as Khaleia did; she certainly surpassed you in every way regarding looks. After he had given her the jacket, you hadn’t been able to tear your attention away from the two, watching how George laughed at each of her jokes and how she flirtily rested her hand on his arm. 

You stabbed your fork through an innocent green bean rather aggressively, making Eva and Briar give each other looks that seemed to say, _Well, are you going to ask or should I?_ Briar seemed to lose the silent battle, so she set down her own utensils and cleared her throat. 

“So, you gonna tell us why you’re in such a shit mood or do we have to guess?” Briar asked, earning a sharp nudge from Eva, who clearly didn’t approve of Briar’s abrasiveness.

You looked up from your barely-eaten dinner. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, earning sounds of disbelief from both girls. “What?”

“You’ve barely eaten, and you can’t stop shooting daggers at Weasley with your eyes,” Briar said. “What did he do this time?”

“Nothing,” you sighed. “Really, I’m fine. Just not having a great day.”

Briar looked like she was about to argue again, but Eva stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Why don’t we go hang out with Dorian and Bram tonight? I think you need a break from all those Gryffindors,” she joked, hoping it would earn a smile from you. 

You shrugged, pushing some of your food around, your fork scraping against your plate. “Sure, as long as that dick Silver won’t be there.”

“He won’t be,” Briar assured you, and though you hadn’t told her yet about him, you had no doubt that Eva had. “I’m glad you’re done with him anyways. You’re so out of his league.”

A snort came from you in reponse. “Lying’s not very nice, you know,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

“I’m not lying!” Briar defended. “You can’t tell me you don’t know how pretty you are.”

“Pretty is a stretch. I’m not terrible to look at, though,” you amended, and you were telling the truth. Clearly, you weren’t that pretty, or _certain_ people would be much kinder. 

“Whatever,” Briar said, shaking her head. “Eva agrees with me, so you’re outnumbered.”

“Briar’s right. Boys are unpleasant at best, anyways.”

“I am utterly shocked I just heard those words come out of your mouth,” you said. “You? Saying boys are terrible? I’d never thought I’d see the day.”

Briar laughed, making Eva flush. “Whatever. They are,” she mumbled. “Didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to change my opinion.”

“‘Course you are! Just surprising, that’s all,” you assured her. “Come on, let’s finish. I want to get out of here.”

The fact that you saw George drape his arm over Khaleia’s shoulder out of the corner of your eye had nothing to do with that. 

Dorian and Bram had finished dinner a few minutes before the three of you, so they were already lounging in the Slytherin common room, talking softly. Both of their faces lit up when you walked in and you all joined them, taking an open space on a couch or chair in front of the flickering green fireplace. 

You all exchanged pleasant greetings as the three of you settled in. Talk of how delicious dinner was followed, to which your stomach growled in response. You hadn’t eaten enough and you would regret that decision later, but you hadn’t been able to stomach food while watching George and the newest subject of his ever-changing attention. 

It wasn’t fair to resent Khaleia, you knew that. She hadn’t done anything to you; you weren’t even sure you had ever spoken to her. You didn’t _resent_ her, you told yourself. Resentment would mean you gave a damn about what George did. And you didn’t. 

“Hey,” Dorian said, waving his hand in front of your face. “Did you hear what I said?”

You shook your head, shooting him an apologetic smile. “No, sorry. What did you say?”

Dorian muttered something about Nargles before repeating himself. “I _said_ , did you hear that Umbridge wants you and Malfoy to meet with her this weekend? I think she’s meeting with all the Prefects.”

An oily, uneasy feeling coursed through you. “Why? What about?”

Dorian shrugged. “Dunno, just heard Malfoy bragging about it. Git doesn’t ever stop running his mouth. Something about a--a little squad for something Umbridge wants done.”

“Well that certainly just makes me feel wonderful,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “There’s something about that nasty woman that just makes me feel unsettled. I don’t want to be alone in a room with her.”

“If it helps, you won’t be alone since Malfoy will be in there with you,” Briar piped up, making you glare at her. 

“Smartass,” you mumbled, making Briar smile widely at you.

“Yeah, you love me though.”

“Sometimes.”

“Hey!”

Bram sat up, swinging his feet off the arm of the chair he’d been sprawled out on. “You think it has anything to do with that rumor you told me about, Dorian?”

“What rumor?” You asked.

“The one that Potter and a few of his friends are upset about not learning real Defense Against the Dark Arts. Umbridge probably just wants to make sure they won’t do anything,” Dorian explained, and your heart skipped a beat. 

You prayed your face hadn’t dropped like your stomach did when you heard Dorian’s words. Dorian turned to you and you did your best to seem unbothered by the news. 

“Have you...y’know, heard anything about it? Since you’re rather close with them, especially Ron.”

You shook your head. “Nope, not a word. Potter’s brave but he isn’t stupid. Defying Umbridge like that is a one-way ticket to hell as far as I’m concerned.”

Dorian made a non-commital sound, nodding. “S’pose even if they were, they’d not tell you.”

“Why not?” You asked, a bit hurt by his prediction.

“C’mon, don’t be daft! You’re Slytherin. They wouldn’t tell a _Slytherin_ about their plans, even if they trust you. They’re too biased for that, even when it comes to you,” Bram said, earning sounds of agreement from the other three. “It’s not an insult, it’s just the way they are.”

It was tempting to brag to them that they were _wrong_ , that your Gryffindor friends were different than all the rest, but you held your tongue. There was no way you’d expose their plans like that; they really would never trust you after that. 

George would probably have a damn field day if that ever happened. He’d probably gloat until the day he died that he had been right about you. If nothing else, not giving George any bit of satisfaction was more than enough motivation for you. 

“Well, they’re not so I guess it doesn’t matter either way, does it?”

“Oh, come off it. Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Briar said. “We’re mean, nasty Slytherins who can’t be trusted with anything because we’re all just evil to the core. You know that!”

Laughter errupted from the group. Even you let out a small chuckle. That really was how people saw you, which was rather hilarious. Granted, Briar was scary as hell when she wanted to be, but the rest of your group were no different than the rest of the Houses. Bram, out of all of you, was the furthest from what everyone considered a Slytherin to be. You’d never even heard him say a bad word against anyone, and he was always cheery and up for anything, even if he was rather shy at times. 

It was a running joke within the Slytherin house about how the rest of Hogwarts viewed it. It was useless to try and convince most of the rest of the students Slytherins weren’t all product of some dark witch or wizard, but at least they could have a bit of fun with it. As horrid as it was, sometimes the students would even play into the stereotype a bit, just to give the rest of the House a laugh. 

Malfoy, though, was actually what so many people thought Slytherins were. That boy was pure evil, you had no doubt about that. 

“All jokes aside,” Eva said. “With Umbridge...there’s something off about her. I don’t know what, but I don’t think she should be allowed anywhere near kids. Having a Ministry employee here, no matter who, makes me think that…”

“That what?” Bram asked.

Eva took a breath, her eyes darting around to make sure no one was near. She leaned in, lowering her voice. “That maybe Potter was telling the truth about what he saw last year. When-when Diggory died during the tournament.”

“You can’t be serious,” Dorian countered, his brows raised. “No offense to him, but Potter must’ve been seeing things. Stress and trauma can do that to a person.”

Eva shook her head. “No, see, that’s the thing. I don’t think he imagined it. If V--if _He_ wasn’t back, then why would the Ministry bother putting Umbridge in Hogwarts?”

Everyone flinched at Eva almost saying He Who Must Not Be Named’s real name out loud. When everything had happened last year, you had been the only Slytherin to believe Harry, and they hadn’t said it, but you knew your friends had thought you were crazy for that. If Eva was starting to come to Harry’s side, even with her father being so high up in the Ministry, maybe the rest of your friends would follow. 

“I agree,” you said with a soft voice. “I have no doubt Harry did see Him last year. The Ministry knows he’s telling the truth, even if they won’t admit it out loud. They’re scared, especially Fudge, and that’s why they want Umbridge here to keep an eye on things.”

Briar looked at you and Eva like you had grown another head. “You can’t be serious right now. You actually believe all that shit? Sorry, but Potter’s always seeking attention. How do we know this isn’t just him--”

“How can you say that when Diggory was killed?” You defended. “Harry saw Cedric get killed right in front of his eyes, Briar. Someone actually died, and you’re making light of it?”

Briar glowered at you, making shivers run down your spine. “That wasn’t what I meant, and you know that. We know you’re enamoured with those damn Gryffindors, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

“I’m not _enamoured_ with them,” you shot back, feeling your temper begin to rise. 

“Then why couldn’t you take your fucking eyes off that Weasley git in the Great Hall?”

You let out a barking, mirthless laugh. “Merlin’s beard, Briar. It’s _George_ . That is the _last_ person I would ever be _enamoured_ with, as you so kindly put it.”

Briar eyed you, as if she didn’t believe you in the slightest. “Whatever. You all can freak yourselves out about an entirely fake threat, but I’m going to enjoy my year.”

If it were anyone other than Briar, you’d be offended by her moodiness, but you’d gotten used to it with her over the years. Within an hour or so, she’d come round and apologize and everything would be right as rain, just like it always was. 

\--------

There wasn’t a D.A. meeting that weekend, not after you had told Harry quietly the day after about your conversation in the Slytherin common room. It wasn’t worth the risk, he said, and you agreed, but you still found yourself rather disappointed. You had nothing to look forward to that weekend now. Hermione suggested you all take a trip down to Hogsmeade, since you had all managed to get your extensive amounts of homework done by Friday night. Harry, Ron, and you all fervently agreed, wanting nothing more than to get out of this damn castle for more than an hour during Hagrid’s or Professor Sprout’s classes. 

The next Saturday, you awoke to a castle covered in bright, gleaming freshly-fallen snow. At the sight of such beautiful, untouched powder, you quickly got dressed, throwing on black jeans and a simple black sweater that fell nicely on your frame. Gloves and a hat were shoved in your pocket as a quick afterthought before you left your private Prefect dorm, excited to be out in the cold, rapidly-approaching winter air. Maybe it was childish to be so exhilarated about a form of weather, but you didn’t care a single bit as you met up with your friends, all of whom still had eyes heavy with sleep, and you left the castle.

Leaving the warmth of the castle was never fun, but the air was more bitter and frigid than it normally was, making you hastily pull on your mittens and hat. You realized, as Ron laughed and nudged Harry, that you had grabbed two very mismatched gloves. Subduing the urge to shove Ron into one of the fresh banks of snow lining the stone pathway, you just slipped them on anyways. 

“What’re Fred and George and Ginny up to?” Harry asked as the four of you walked. 

“Fred ‘n George are off with Angelina and...shit, her name’s--”

“Khaleia,” you offered, and Ron gave you an appreciative, but slightly confused look before continuing. 

“Yes, Khaleia, and they’re up to Merlin knows what,” Ron continued. “And Ginny, well, I hate to break it to you mate, but she’s on a date.”

“Whaddya mean by that?” Harry asked, his nose and cheeks dusted pink, though you suspected it wasn’t entirely from the freezing wind. 

Ron rolled his eyes, sending you an exasperated look. “Mate, we aren’t stupid. It’s obvious you like Ginny.”

Harry began protesting, but Ron stopped him. “I don’t mind, don’t worry. I mean, it is my little sister and the fact that _anyone_ can find her anything other than extremely annoying is a mystery to me, but I’d rather she be with you than that git Dean.”

“Don’t we like Dean?” You asked. 

“Well, yeah, normally, but not when he’s snogging my sister,” Ron said, shuddering. “Really, it makes me want to gag.”

You’re being dramatic, Ronald, really,” Hermione said. “Like she’s not seen you and Lavender jumping down each other’s throats every chance you get.”

The tips of Ron’s ears flared red, and you noticed the faint trace of bitter hurt lacing through Hermione’s words as she spoke. You shot her a sympathetic look, but she had found an interesting bit of ground to examine instead. 

“That is entirely different,” Ron defended. 

“No, it isn’t,” Harry said, patting him on the back. “It’s okay though. Can’t blame Dean at all, honestly.”

The look of disgust on Ron’s face set you off laughing, the cold air burning your lungs as Harry and Hermione joined in. Ron glared at the lot of you, mumbling that he did _not_ think it was very funny, not at all. 

“Relax, mate, just a joke,” Harry assured him, patting him on the back. 

The four of you arrived at the Three Broomsticks after a few more minutes of trudging through the fresh snow, eager to wrap your freezing fingers around a hot drink. It wasn’t as busy as it normally was, but that meant that you got the pick of the lot when it came to seating. Fred and George were sitting against the back wall, a few yellowed sheets of parchment covered in scribbled writing splayed on the table in front of them. They seemed to be engaged in an intense discussion, both twins’ faces furrowed with concentration as they whispered quietly. 

Ron and Harry decided you all should join them, but you hung back for a moment. Hermione caught your hesitation and stayed back with you. “You okay with sitting with them?”

“Oh, of course,” you said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hermione eyed you. “You know, you don’t always have to make yourself be okay with things if you’re really not.”

Her words hit you probably just as she had intended. It had never been said and you had never even admitted it to yourself, but you did always feel as if you weren’t allowed to let things hurt you. You pursed your lips for a moment, then said, “I know. I’m really okay.”

She nodded, though her disbelief was as palpable as the rich aroma of food wafting through the restaurant. You knew George wouldn’t bring up what had happened with Umbridge, which meant you wouldn’t either. It was an odd thing to keep secret, really, but you didn’t mind much. It made things less complicated. If Ron and Fred knew, they would assume that things were on the mend between you and George, and they weren’t. Not that there really was anything to mend; George was just treating you how he always had. 

The insults about your sex life were new this year, but he and Fred always found different things to tease you with. Besides, you wouldn’t want things to get boring. Having them treat you like everyone else would mean you wouldn’t get that lovely dose of antagonization every day and where would be the fun in that? 

Harry and Ron had pulled over a table and you and Hermione grabbed some chairs and joined the four boys, the three redheads quite a contrast with Harry’s dark locks. Fred and George were still muttering rapidly, as if they were working through a problem, but once you all joined them, they stopped suddenly. Fred snatched the parchment off the table and George straightened up, his slightly crooked grin greeting you as you all settled in. 

“Well, hello baby brother and friends,” George said casually, as if he hadn’t just been looking like he was going to keel over from stress. “What brings you to this fine establishment?”

“What’ve you got there?” Ron asked, ignoring George and directing his question at Fred, who was quickly trying to tuck everything away in his bag. 

“None of your business, that’s what,” George answered. 

“But-”

“Drop it, or I’ll make you,” George warned.

Ron stopped his questioning but you could hear him still muttering under his breath from where he sat next to you. Fred finally seemed to have gotten everything put away, so he turned towards the rest of the group, a matching smile spreading across his face. 

"Where are the girls?" Harry asked, referring to Angelina and Khaleia.

"Oh, they wanted to go shopping, which was alright since Fred and I--well, we had some business to attend to," George answered. 

“What a nice surprise,” Fred said. “We’ve already eaten, but we’re going to Honeyduke’s next. Care to join us?” 

You all nodded your agreement even though you could feel your stomach growl quietly at the mention of food. The six of you stood, Fred pulling his bag over his shoulder. You had to admit, you were almost as curious as Ron. Not _as_ curious, though, because you had a slight hunch that it had to do with the myriad of new sweets and tricks you had caught the pair with. 

Fred and George secured their coats before you left, shivering at a harsh breeze that whipped through the establishment as someone entered. You noticed that George was wearing his maroon jacket, the one that he had given Khaleia in the Great Hall. It seemed the boy was reluctant to part with it no matter the beauty of the receiving party. 

Somehow it had gotten even chillier outside in the few minutes that you had been in the Three Broomsticks. The cold cut through your layers like a knife through butter, making your teeth chatter as you walked. A mild conversation started up in your group, but you were more focused on saving the little warmth you had left in your hands. 

Fred had spotted Angelina, walking alone, right as you had left the Three Broomsticks, taking off to spend time with her. George was clearly not in favor of this, but he decided to continue on with you to Honeyduke’s, even as he swore colorfully under his breath. The day, though frigid, was rather lovely, the white snow making everything look peaceful and sparkling as you walked. 

At least, the walk _was_ peaceful, until: “Oi, Weasleys!”

Malfoy’s snide voice called out from behind your group, making you all stop and turn in almost perfect unison. You could feel everyone’s energy suddenly turn sour and sharp almost immediately as Malfoy, Crabbe, and Zambini strode towards you. 

“Thought I saw the other Weasley with that Thomas bloke a few minutes ago,” Malfoy continued, and the glint in his eyes made you uneasy. 

“What about it,” Ron demanded, clearly not happy to see the blond Slytherin. 

“Ah, just curious. Seems like she’s been making her way through your House,” Malfoy mused. “And of course, you have your little Gryffindor wannabe with you. Seems she’s been nearly as busy as your whore of a sister,” he said, shooting you a displeased look. 

You _felt_ more than saw everyone, including Hermione, bristle at his comment. George, standing to your side, clenched his mitten-encased fists, his body tensing with anger. Crabbe and Zabini let out short barks of laughter, making Ron glare at them with more fire than you’d ever seen from him. 

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business, Malfoy,” George ground out, making a vicious smirk grow on Malfoy’s face. 

And then Malfoy said something so vile, so _revolting_ that your stomach actually churned about Ginny and boys she had been spending time with. He barely even finished his nauseating comment before George was flying at him, Harry, and Ron not far behind. Luckily, you and Hermione were able to grab hold of Ron before he got very far, but Harry escaped your grasp. 

Ron struggled against the two of you, but you held fast even as George’s fist collided with Malfoy’s jaw, the thud reverberating painfully through the cold air. Harry’s was soon to follow, smashing into Malfoy’s side, making him cough painfully. There wasn’t time for words as the two attacked the Slytherin, George grunting with each impact. 

To Malfoy’s credit, he did manage to land a solid hit to George’s nose, which you had fixed barely a week before, and Harry’s stomach. The brawl only lasted a minute, maybe less, before you heard yelling and Fred and Angelina rushed over. Fred grabbed his twin, who had been straddling Malfoy after he had been knocked over by Harry’s hit, and yanked him off the bloodied boy, making George thrash wildly. 

“Let me go!” He grunted as Fred tore him away, still trying to swing at Malfoy. 

“Calm _down_ ,” Fred growled. “Merlin’s beard, mate!”

Fred had gotten George a safe distance away, so he turned to him. “What the hell happened? Have you gone fucking mental?”

George took a moment to catch his breath before speaking. “That--that piece of _shit_ said-said--” His voice was thick from the new deviation of his septum, causing him to struggle through his words. 

“Said something about Ginny that will _never_ be repeated, is that understood?” You finished for him, dismissing the confused looked on Fred’s face. George nodded in agreement. You knew he wanted to ask what he had said, but you would never let Ginny hear what Malfoy said about her. And you meant _never_. 

Angelina snatched Harry’s arm and pulled him away from where he had been gearing up to send a sharp kick to Malfoy’s side. Harry calmed down soon after, but George was still seething as Zabini pulled Malfoy up, the latter’s face red and spattered with bright crimson. 

“You fucking asshole,” Malfoy spat at George. “My father will hear about this.”

George, his chest heaving, scoffed at him. “I’m not afraid of your bloody father and I’m not afraid of you, either. You’re just a spoilt, pretentious dickhead who runs to his daddy every time something happens. If you’re going to talk shit, you better be ready to defend yourself.”

You let out a soft snort, earning a sharp look from Hermione. “Now is _not_ the time,” she whispered. 

She was right, but still, it was funny to see that stuck up git get put in his place. 

“You ever say anything about Ginny again, and we’ll finish what we started, consequences be damned,” Harry threatened, flexing the hand he had hit Malfoy with. The punches had to have hurt even worse than normal for both parties; the air was so freezing any impact would’ve felt like sharp, shattering glass against their chilled skin.

Malfoy’s icy demeanor remained, but you caught the nervousness that flashed in his eyes before he managed to erase it. As awful as it was, that look pricked you with smug satisfaction. Good; that bastard should be scared. Even if Harry and George didn’t go after him again, you certainly would. 

“You’ll pay for this,” Malfoy growled, his hand coming up to cup his eye, which was rapidly swelling and turning a brilliant shade of purple. 

“Piss off, you foul little shithead,” George snapped. “Nobody here is fucking scared of you. I’d leave while you’re still able to walk, if I were you.”

You had never really seen George like this, his face twisted with anger and his every muscle contracted as if he were about to pounce. It seemed as though wrath was coursing through his bloodstream, and you couldn’t blame him. All the Weasleys were incredibly protective of Ginny, but none more so than Ron and George. 

Malfoy and his little band of followers finally left, but not before Malfoy shot one last dirty look towards your group. _Stupid git._ Some people thought you got along with Malfoy, but you were always quick to dispel that rumour. Just because the two of you shared a House did not mean you could stand the vile little bitch. He was everything wrong with Slytherin; he was proud, ignorant, entitled and, frankly, just a massive asshole. 

You all turned toward your injured friends, who seemed alright, if a bit sore. George had blood dripping from his nose, _again_ , but otherwise seemed okay. Harry was holding his side, his breathing slightly uneven, but his face was unmarred. George slid off his gloves and the rest of you drew in a shocked breath at how red and bloodied the cracked skin of his knuckles were. 

“It’s fine,” he mumbled in response to your reactions. 

“Let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey, both of you,” Hermione said, rubbing Harry’s shoulder kindly. “That was an incredibly stupid thing to do, but I’m glad you did it, or we would’ve had to,” she told the boys, gesturing to you and her. 

They all let out soft laughs of amusement, but she was right. You had half a mind to hand Malfoy’s ass to him right before George and Harry did it for you. George shook his head though, tugging his gloves back on. 

“I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital wing,” George insisted, even as he spat out a mouthful of blood onto the pure white snow, the red shockingly bright against the paleness. 

“Hate to break it to you Georgie, but it looks like that little blond goblin broke your nose,” Fred told his twin, eyeing his gushing nose. “You should get it reset before it gets crooked.”

“Scales can do it,” George said and everyone turned to you, confused looks on their faces. 

“What?” You asked, shrugging. “It isn’t that hard.”

“But Madam Pomfrey could probably--” Hermione started.

“She did it last week and it was fine,” George countered.

“Last week? You broke your nose last week? When?” Fred asked, clearly surprised. 

“During the meeting,” George said simply, as if it weren’t a big deal. 

You supposed it wasn’t, but he had just been so secretive about it last Saturday that you assumed he didn’t want anyone to know. You hadn’t mentioned it to anyone since and it seemed he hadn’t either. 

Harry let out a shocked noise. “What? During the--”

“Yes, during the meeting, but I was fine then and I’m fine now. Just let her fix it and we can get Harry to the hospital wing. He could have internal bleeding or something,” George said exasperatedly. “Scales, if you don’t mind?”

Ignoring everyone’s eyes on you, you drew out your wand, feeling its magic warm you as you leveled it with George’s face for the second time in a week. George braced himself, shutting eyes as he waited for the upcoming snap and spark of pain as his nose healed. 

“ _Episkey_ ,” you said, feeling warmth burst from your wand as you cast the spell. 

It hit George, earning a groan similar to the one he had emitted last time, though he was more prepared today for the sudden bite of agony. Immediately, the blood stopped flowing, the swollen redness vanishing from his skin between one blink and the next. George let out a soft sigh of relief as he took a deep breath through his nose. Hermione drew out her own wand and cast a spell that cleared the red gore from George’s face.

_Merlin’s beard, where was that spell last week?_

It seemed George was thinking the same thing as he wiped under his nose, surveying his still-clean sweater sleeve after. “Wicked,” he breathed, grinning at Hermione. “You’ll have to teach me that one.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovely readers! finals are over, which means more time to write! this chapter's a bit long so hope you enjoy! <33

Khaleia showed up as you were walking Harry to the hospital wing, immediately fawning over George, even though he was just fine. She was so worried one might’ve thought George had nearly died, not just gotten in a small fight. 

Ridiculous. It wasn’t like his nose was even broken anymore. 

After checking the time, you realized your meeting with Umbridge was quickly approaching, so you said your farewells and went to change into your Prefect robes. You weren’t entirely sure you had to wear them, but you figured it was the safest choice. Umbridge had a propensity for picking out the smallest details and using them against the person until they were reduced to tears, or worse. 

Of course Malfoy was going to be there, too; the two of you already were at each other’s throats most days, but after today, he would surely be out for blood. 

Walking to Umbridge’s office had your heart thundering, your hands shaking slightly as you traveled through the castle. You prided yourself on being a good liar, but this would have to be one of your best performances yet if you were going to fool Umbridge. There was no doubt in your mind it was going to have something to do with the rumor Dorian and Bram had told you about. 

You had all been so _careful_ , but you were worried there was someone in the D.A. that perhaps hadn’t been. _Some_ students had a tendency to run their mouths, but if someone had, it wouldn’t be long until the entire castle knew, thanks to Hermione’s ingenious spellwork. 

Tapping your knuckles on the wooden door leading to Umbridge’s office, you sucked in a surprised breath as it opened before you could finish knocking. Professor Umbridge, in all her gaudy pink glory, gave you a sympathetic smile that felt rather mocking. You offered her a half smile in return, even though there was no brightness in the short woman’s small eyes. 

“My apologies. Come in,” she told you, gesturing for you to join the other Prefects that had already arrived. “Tea?” 

“No, thank you,” you said. There was no way in hell you’d take anything that toad made. 

She clicked her tongue, pouring a cup for herself, adding _six_ sugar cubes, according to your count. How vile; though you supposed that truly fit the overwhelming personality she sported. 

The silver spoon she used to stir her tea clinked against the delicate china of her cup as she stood, waiting for every eye to be on her. As far as you could tell, only the Prefects from Ravenclaw and Slytherin had been invited to this little meeting, as Ron and Hermione weren’t there. That made you rather uneasy as you went to stand by the other students. Malfoy met your gaze with a sneer, turning his nose up at you. You rolled your eyes, sighing at his childishness. Cho dipped her head in the smallest nod of greeting and you returned the motion. 

Umbridge cleared her throat, a grating, phlegmy sound, to indicate she was ready to begin. “Some of you might have heard the rumors that seem to be spreading around Hogwarts as of late, yes?” She didn’t wait for a response before she continued. “It is because of those very reasons that I have called you twelve here. The Minister is not in the business of tolerating any sort of foolishness. School is a place of learning, not of rebellion. Unfortunately, a select few students have decided that they know more than the very leader of the Wizarding World.” 

Umbridge let out a tittering laugh, and a few nervous chuckles rose from your fellow students before Umbridge spoke again. “These students are gravely mistaken. Some of you may have even heard that some believe He Who Must Not Be Named has returned; this is also false.”

You felt your chest tighten at her mention of Harry and of the D.A. It was a slight relief that it seemed she thought it was nothing more than a mere idea, but you still felt on edge as she scanned the students in front of her. Umbridge sipped her tea, then set it down, smacking her lips as she swallowed. You fought the urge to wrinkle your nose at her. 

“It is for this very reason that I have gathered you here today. I am enlisting you as part of a special task force that is in charge of quelling rumors and stuffing out any mentions of unrest,” Umbridge informed you, her small eyes landing on you as she spoke. You kept your face calm, even as your stomach churned with anxiety. 

“This is meant to be kept quiet, so you must never speak of what I am telling you here,” Umbridge said. “I don’t think you need to be told what will happen if you fail to comply.” 

_More like she doesn’t want Dumbledore to find out what a nasty, foul wretch she is._

Narrowing her eyes, but keeping that paltry smile of hers pasted on her lips, she said, “If any of you find yourself having even the inclination of doing so, and I find out, rest assured that it would not be an ideal situation for you.”

It was something about her patronizing smile combined with her dead eyes and threatening words that made a shiver run up your spine. The woman adorned in pink that stood in front of you oozed evil, you were sure of it. You had no choice but to accept, though. The consequences of rejecting her offer would be severe, you had no doubt about that. 

Intertwining her hands in front of her, Umbridge looked at the lot of you. Next to you, Malfoy was practically foaming at the mouth; he had just been told he had a valid excuse to antagonize his years-long enemy and he wasn’t even attempting to mask his excitement. No doubt that Malfoy would become Umbridge’s prize Prefect. The very thought made you want to hurl. 

“Have I made myself clear?” Umbridge asked, to which she received a wave of nods from your fellow students. You barely dipped your chin in answer, and you knew by the slight glare Umbridge threw your way that she had caught it. 

“Wonderful!” Umbridge exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “If any of you have any news at any time, please stop by my office to inform me of it. I’d prefer it be done immediately, though I do understand that sometimes, delays are unavoidable.”

Her words, the icy tone that lined them, said otherwise. 

Finally free from the stifling heat of Umbridge’s office, you and the eleven other Prefects walked quickly, eager to get back to your weekend plans. You hadn’t made any until that night, allowing you to spend the day however you wished. Tonight, however, because the D.A. meeting had been postponed, it had been decided that there should be a secret Quidditch match held at midnight on the pitch. Everyone was welcome, but Hermione, being the clever witch she was, drafted up another paper that, once signed, swore the author to secrecy lest they wished to develop a horrid bout of sickness that would cause them to vomit every two minutes until the antidote was administered. 

The rest of your day was spent lounging around with your friends from Gryffindor; you felt a bit guilty for spending more time with them recently, but they were the only ones who could understand why you were feeling so stressed and on edge. Once the meeting had finished, you found them all in the Gryffindor common room, gathered round Harry, who was still feeling a bit sore from his fight earlier. Malfoy hadn’t done any serious damage, but Madam Pomfrey said he had been hit just right and that his ribs would be sore for a few days. When you heard that, you gave him a sympathetic smile; you knew that pain all too well. 

You gave them the run-down of your meeting with Umbridge: how it had been only Ravenclaw and Slytherin Prefects (Hermione had acted rather offended that they hadn’t been invited, even though any time not spent around Umbridge was time well-spent) and that Umbridge was using them as glorified watch dogs to police other students. Harry was the most outraged out of everyone; he had let out an impressive and colorful stream of insults directed toward the professor once you had finished. 

After you finished, Harry and Hermione settled and began talking about some Muggle news that had recently occurred, but you could still feel tense anxiety pulling at your mind. Sure, Umbridge was merely a pain in the ass now, but it seemed like she was gaining more and more power by the week, and you were concerned that it wasn’t going to stop until she outranked even Dumbledore. Even her inane decrees had started to become more intrusive. There were now rules ranging from things like how free time was spent to how often you could get sick and miss class before receiving detention. 

Ron noticed your focused expression and sat next to you, placing a friendly hand on your back and moving it in circles. You focused on your hands, on the already-sore picked skin around your nail beds. “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. What is it?”

You chewed your bottom lip as you thought. “It’s just…” you let out an exhale. “Just worried, y’know? I don’t want anything to happen, and now that Umbridge has practically forced me to become one of her little lap dogs like Malfoy, I don’t want anyone in the D.A. thinking--”

“Hey,” Ron interrupted, making you look at him. “If anyone in the D.A. says anything about you, and I mean _anything_ , they’ll have to answer to me, Hermione, and Harry, okay? And Ginny as well, and she is fucking terrifying when she wants to be,” Ron told you, letting out a chuckle. “I...I know it’s difficult and I know what people expect from you, but that doesn’t mean that’s who you are, okay?” 

You nodded, cracking your knuckles like you always did when you were nervous. “I know. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ron answered. 

“I just can’t believe I have to deal with Malfoy _and_ Umbridge now,” you said, cracking a smile. “I mean, whatever’s out there controlling everything must really have it out for me.”

Ron patted your back in agreement. “I don’t envy you at all, believe me. But hey, at least we finally get to play Quidditch again!”

“Damn right we do,” you said. “And I’m kicking all your asses tonight.”

Ron let out a bellowing laugh. “If you can stay on your broom, maybe I’d be scared.”

Your mouth dropped open in a fake expression of incredulous disbelief. “You bloody bastard!” You exclaimed, digging your elbow into the tender spot of skin between his ribs and his hip, making him yelp in pain. “It’s your brothers’ faults and you know it!”

Ron grabbed your elbow, his fingers tight around your arm, preventing you from going in for another jab. Pressing his fingertips into your side, right where he knew you were ticklish, he said, “Only bad players make excuses!”

You widened your eyes at him, laughter rippling through your own body as you tried to swat his hand away. “You are going to pay for that, Ronald Weasley,” you warned him, but the threat was undermined by the way you could barely catch your breath as he relentlessly attacked your side. 

“You’re using Ron’s full name?” Harry interjected, delight dancing in his eyes. “What’d the git do now?”

You pulled your arm from Ron’s grasp, batting at his hand that threatened to tickle you again. “The bastard’s claiming I’m a bad player because his bloody brothers keep knocking me off my broom!” 

Harry grinned. “Hey, it’s okay. We can’t all be star players; one of us is bound to be bad,” he joked, making you shoot him a glare that was purely playful. 

“Bastards, both of you!” You declared, pushing Ron away once more. “Right, ‘Mione?” 

Hermione looked up, clearly not following the conversation. “Huh?”

“Nah, ‘Mione agrees with me, right? She always does,” Ron said smugly, and the blush that burned Hermione’s face was barely covered by the dancing light being thrown from the fireplace. 

Hermione mumbled, “Not always,” but Ron was already moving on from the topic. “I think Lavender might come tonight. She doesn’t really play Quidditch, but she said she wanted to watch me play. She’s really sweet. She always does stuff like that. I think she really cares about me.”

At the mention of Lavender’s name, Hermione sucked in a breath. You hid your wince, but you knew how much the mention of that girl hurt Hermione. “Won’t she be bored?” You countered. “I mean, it’s going to be rather dark so it’ll be hard enough for us to see as we play.”

Ron shrugged. “What, she can’t want to watch her boyfriend play Quidditch?” 

At that, both you and Harry let out surprised noises. “So you two are…?”

“Official? Yeah, just happened yesterday,” Ron said. At the lack of our responses, his face fell. “What?”

Harry just shook his head, so Ron turned to you, confusion in his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, shrugging. 

Ron clearly wanted a straightforward answer, so he at last turned to Hermione. “‘Mione, do you--”

Hermione stood suddenly, and you could tell that tears were about to make an appearance by the way she took a shuddering breath. “Can’t you stop talking about her for even a day?” She asked, her voice shaky. 

“Wait, what’s wrong--” Ron began, but Hermione was already darting to the exit of the common room, her shoulders hunched as she tried to hide the tears from your view. 

“Merlin’s bloody beard,” you swore, pulling yourself to your feet, intent on following your friend. 

Ron caught your arm, looking up at you with a confused and slightly hurt expression, but you shook your head. “Just...I know you like Lavender, but…” you sighed, not knowing how to explain it without exposing Hermione’s secret infatuation. 

You tugged your arm out of his grasp with an apologetic expression before following Hermione. As you walked through the swinging painting door, you heard Harry consoling Ron, who was still as perplexed as ever. 

Hermione had barely made it two steps outside the door before she had sunk to the ground, sitting against the wall with her arms curled around her bent knees. Your heart ached at her distress, at the way she was trying to hold in her sobs as you approached. You sat, opting to lean your head against her shoulder instead of saying anything. She would talk when she was ready, so you were content just to be there for her until she was. 

“I-I just…” Hermione whispered, her voice unsteady. “I don’t understand why he-he likes h-her and not-not…” 

She couldn’t finish her sentence due to the fresh wave of tears that washed over her, making her shoulders shake as she curled into your touch. You draped your arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “I don’t know, honestly. I wish I did, ‘Mione, I really do. I think that...I think Ron is just excited someone chose him over Harry,” you told her, which was the honest truth. 

You knew how much Ron felt like Harry overshadowed him, and that Ron always felt second-best. It was likely more the thrill of the concept than anything; someone _finally_ noticed Ron over his famous best friend. It wasn’t really helpful, but you wanted Hermione to know that it wasn’t _her_ that Ron had chosen Lavender over hypothetically. It was the novelty of being first. 

Hermione sniffled. “Well, he could’ve at least chosen someone who wasn’t so shrill and affectionate all the damn time.”

You let a soft, short laugh out through your nose. “That’s very true.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione apologized as the tears began to slow. “I know it isn’t really very fair of me to dislike Lavender simply because she let Ron know how she felt before I did, but I didn’t really like her much in the first place.” 

It wasn’t hard to agree with her on that one, as terrible as you felt about it. 

The sun was setting earlier and earlier each day as winter approached, meaning that it had been incredibly hard to keep yourself awake as you waited for the clock on your bedside table to point to midnight. Even as your eyes begged you to close them, you kept yourself awake. There was no way in hell you were going to miss your first chance to play Quidditch since that toad of a professor banned the games. 

You had kept yourself occupied with a book Hermione had given you a few weeks earlier. It was about a man and a woman a few hundred years ago, both of whom had to get over their own pride and self-importance in order to fall in love. As cliche as it was, you had always had a soft spot for romance novels, and this one was no different. It was easy to sit in your bed and devour page after page about dances and manners and doing things properly until you managed a glance at your clock and realized you only had a few minutes to change into clothes suitable for flying. 

Setting your book down gently, you tossed on comfortable sweats and a long-sleeve, then a jacket, hat, and gloves. You knew how cold flying got, even during the middle of the day, and you had no interest in freezing your hands to your broomstick. The excitement coursing through your veins made your stomach twist as you carefully opened the door to your room, glancing down the hallway once, then twice, before exiting. You made sure to make as little noise as possible, each foot set down gingerly, even on the rugs decorating the common room. 

You found yourself wishing, oddly enough, that you had another one of those little opaque candies that George had given you the night the two of you had unknowingly been out past curfew. It surely would’ve made your currently slow and arduous process of sneaking out of the castle and onto the dark pitch far easier. 

Every sound made you nearly jump out of your skin, but you finally made it out of the castle without seeing another living soul. The grass beneath your feet was already damp with dew, and you were glad you wore thicker socks because you could tell it was going to be a chilly night. As the pitch came into view out of the heavy darkness of midnight, you saw there was already a rather sizable crowd gathering around one of the entrances. 

You hoped there were other Prefects so that you didn’t have to cast the protection spells alone; any of you that came were always in charge of making sure that the games could be neither heard nor seen by any outsiders who might’ve come to snoop around. Casting all the enchantments by yourself always made you a bit more tired than you liked to be at the start of the match. 

As you approached, the group stiffened and paused their conversation before you called out in a soft whisper-yell, “It’s just me!”

A few sighs of relief rose up from the crowd as you reached them. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Cho, Fred, George, Angelina, Khaleia, that McLaggin git from Gryffindor, Dean, the Patil twins, and Neville had all shown up, which made you sigh in relief. There were only a few minutes left until midnight, and if people showed up after the agreed upon time, the spells wouldn’t let them into the pitch. None of your House had shown up, which was really fine by you, especially since Silver used to come to these late-night matches all the time. You didn’t see Lavender either, which brought on another bout of relief, if only for Hermione’s sake. 

Hermione waved you over, holding a piece of parchment and a Muggle pen in her hand. “Just sign this and you, Ron, Cho, and I can get started on the protective spells.”

You reached out for the pen she gave you, quickly scribbling your name on the paper before handing it back to her. “Merlin’s beard, it’s bloody cold out here,” you swore, tucking your hands under your armpits for warmth as Hermione scanned the paper. 

“Complaining already?” Fred said from a few feet away where Angelina was leaning against him. “Bit early for that, isn’t it?” 

You huffed out a foggy breath. “Piss off, Weasley. Not all of us have someone to keep us warm,” you replied, but you shot Angelina a kind smile to show her you were only teasing. 

She grinned back, leaning even further into Fred’s warmth, when a voice from behind you said, “Well, sounds like you need someone to keep you warm, then.”

The half terrified, half humored expression that passed over Angelina’s face meant that it could’ve only been one person who spoke. Turning around, hiding your wince as you did, you faced McLaggen, as smug and confident as ever. 

“Erm, that’s alright, got my jacket and everything,” you responded as kindly as you could, even as you heard Ron and Harry trying to hide laughs from behind you. “Thanks, though.”

McLaggen shrugged. “Your loss, Slytherin,” he said, sounding like he truly believed it. 

You turned around, holding in your laughter until you walked over to Ron and Harry, who were both red in the face even in the dark light. “You are so loud,” you whispered. “He absolutely heard you!”

Ron let out a massive snort at that, which made Hermione nudge him. “What? It’s McLaggen! How can I _not_ laugh? He is like, the _last_ guy she would ever go for! Besides, he’s as bright a Flobberworm; I would bet ten Galleons he didn’t hear us.”

“He’s not that bad,” Hermione defended, making you all look at her. “He isn’t! He’s not terrible to look at.”

“Yeah, if you can’t see,” Harry responded, causing you and Ron to giggle again. 

“Whatever,” Hermione huffed. “You’re all just being mean. Just because he’s--”

“He’s what?” Ron asked. “Dull? Dim-witted? Bad at Quidditch?” 

“I’ll have you know that I don’t think he’s any of that at all,” Hermione snapped. 

“Come on, ‘Mione, you can’t be seriously telling us you have a crush on _McLaggen_ , can you?” You asked incredulously. 

“I don’t,” she answered. “You all are just being unfair to him. Maybe he’s--”

Ron shook his head. “‘Mione, he isn’t even _here_ right now. What’s the point of defending him? He’s a stupid git.”

Hermione mumbled something that sounded like, “Just like you, Ronald,” but it seemed you were the only one who heard it. 

The watch on Hermione’s wrist indicated that it was finally midnight, so everyone filed onto the Quidditch pitch, leaving the Prefects behind to begin the spellwork. You nodded a hello to Cho before the four of you raised your wands in unison, casting spells meant to block light and sound from anyone standing even just outside the pitch. Cho also added a spell that would cause anyone who got too close to suddenly think they had forgotten to put pants on, meaning they would quickly return back to the castle before they discovered the game. 

Once the spells were secure, your hands feeling a bit warmer from the magic that had flowed through your wand, you walked into the pitch, where everybody else had been busy setting up the game. Someone had enchanted whitish orbs of light to float around the field in even intervals, making everything suddenly perfectly visible. You shielded your eyes as they adjusted to the new light, walking over to the rest of the group. 

Fred and George, being the oldest, and slightly bossy, always assigned themselves captains, even when the group murmured exasperatedly about it. They were just about to pick teams as the four of you walked up. 

“Right, then! George will go first, then me, then George, and so on until everyone is picked. We have fourteen, meaning we can actually play a full game with all the positions, which is brilliant! Just a reminder, if you tell anyone about the game, clever little Hermione has enchanted the paper you signed. You’ll be throwing up for hours, and it won’t be pretty.” Fred said, causing a pretty blush to cover Hermione’s pale face. “Georgie, after you.” 

George nodded. “I’ll pick...Scales,” he said, making you stop the comment you were just about to make to Ron. 

“Me?” You asked, looking around to see if anyone else had heard him, because _surely_ , George hadn’t just picked you very first. 

George sighed, giving you an annoyed look. “Yes, _you_. Come stand over here so we can continue, or do you want to make everyone have to wait on you?”

You threw a confused look at Ron, who shrugged and mouthed, “No clue!” as you went to stand at George’s side. Fred went on to pick Angelina, of course, and as she walked to him, you whispered to George, “Why’d you pick me first? Why not Khaleia?”

George let out a sharp breath through his nose. “Does it really matter?”  
  


“Um, yes, it does. You always pick me last. Even when we force Hermione to play.”

“Okay, well, I didn’t this time.”

“I know that, you git. I’m asking _why_.”

“Shut it before I trade you for someone on Fred’s team,” George snapped. 

As curious as you still were, you had to admit that you’d rather play against Fred than George. At least if you were on George’s team, he’d have a harder time trying to knock you off your broom without being obvious about it. 

George went on to pick Harry, Dean, Parvati, Khaleia, and unfortunately, McLaggin, who wouldn’t stop giving you or Hermione suggestive looks that made you want to vomit. Fred got Ginny, Cho, Ron, Neville, and Padma. You could hear Fred grumbling about having to have Cho on his team, but you’d rather have her and her less than excellent playing than that bastard McLaggin, who was a massive pain in your ass. 

Once positions were chosen (Harry and Ginny as Seekers, Fred, George, Dean, and Cho as Beaters, McLaggin and Ron as Keepers, and the rest of you as Chasers), Hermione, who was acting as the referee and scorekeeper, stood in the middle of the pitch. The rest of you gathered around her in a circle as Fred and George outlined the rules, which all stayed the same with the exception of injuries. Quidditch was an inherently dangerous game, but Fred and George threatened that if anyone hurt someone else, they’d not only have their asses handed to them by the twins, but they’d be banned from all further late-night games. None of you could afford a visit to the hospital if Quidditch was the reason you’d been hurt. 

After everyone nodded in agreement, Hermione started the game, and everyone darted into the sky in a rush of dark colors and cold wind. You immediately started to shiver at the low temperature, making you eager to start the game so the movement would warm you up. Parvati had gotten the Quaffle right away, surprising you a bit. You hadn’t known she had been such a good player. 

You darted after her, weaving through Neville, Padma, and Angelina as they all tried to block your path. Reaching Ron at his goalpost, you made yourself open and Parvati tossed the maroon ball your way. You hit it in with the tail end of your broom, making your team cheer wildly as Ron tried to block it, but failed. 

He shot you a glare, but you just smiled cheekily at him before flying away, ready to start the next play. Fred, George, Cho, and Dean were more careful with their Bludger hits than you had ever seen them be, but it still nearly made you let go of the Quaffle as one soared over your head close enough to pull tendrils of hair loose from the braid you had it tied in. 

You hadn’t expected the teams to be so evenly matched when they were first picked, but Fred’s team was truly giving George’s a run for your money as the game went on. The score was tied, Harry and Ginny were still searching for the Snitch, and McLaggen was being a bloody asshole, yelling at your team to, “Block better! Be faster! I’m doing all the work!” 

Parvati flew up beside you between plays, her face twisted with annoyance. “I swear, I don’t care if Fred’s team wins; if McLaggin doesn’t shut the hell up, I’m going to knock him off his broom myself.”

“I’ll help,” you responded. “Fucking git.” 

The game had been going on for nearly an hour, and though you were having fun, your hands were nearly frozen solid and your lips were dry and chapped from the cold night air. You had your arm gripped tightly around the Quaffle, but you couldn’t see a way through the rushing action between you and Ron at his goalpost. You hated being idle during a game, so you made up your mind to just go for it when George flew up beside you, surprising you. 

“What’s the hold-up, Scales? Let’s go!” George shouted over the commotion. 

“I can’t find a way through!” You shouted back, gesturing towards the field, where Fred was wreaking havoc with his bat, Cho alongside him. 

“Just get going and I’ll take care of it! Let’s end this game before I freeze my ass off!” George told you, and you sighed, but followed his command. 

Darting through the night air gave you a feeling of exhilaration that nothing else matched, even when you felt the cold was seeping into your very bones. Trusting that George was behind, you rolled and ducked through the players on the field as they tried to stop you or take the Quaffle from where it was tucked close against your body. You made it through Fred’s Chasers, leaving them in the dust like it was nothing, but suddenly Fred appeared in front of you, grinning madly as he held his bat. 

You felt anxiety swirl in your stomach as you approached. It sounded like George had kept with you as you flew, so you prayed that he was going to understand what you were about to do and help you. Instead of trying to go around Fred, who was posted in front of the goal like he lived there, you shot straight for him, leaning forward on your broom to coax even more speed out of the wicked fast thing. Fred’s grin only widened as you moved; he must’ve thought you were either mad or a massive bloody idiot, or both. You hoped that George could somehow read your movements, and that he would do something soon, because you were nearing Fred at a neck-breaking speed. 

Suddenly, the warbling whoosh of a Bludger ripped through the air as the metal ball flew a few inches under your broom, heading straight for Fred. Fred didn’t notice it soon enough to wind up his own bat, and right as you were about to collide with him, he made the wise decision to drop quick as lightning. Both you and the Bludger barely missed the redhead, and you whooped with joy as he ducked out of your way. 

The Bludger rebounded, heading back towards George while you continued your path. The look on Ron’s face was full of nervous anticipation as he watched you fly ever nearer. George appeared to your right, and you nodded your head at him, making him smile broadly as he understood. You feigned shooting left, making Ron dive and follow you, but you threw the Quaffle in George’s direction as hard as you could as you pulled Ron from his post. George caught the ball with an _oompf_ from the velocity of your throw, then released it almost as quickly as he caught it, the ball tearing through the hoop. 

A whoop of excitement left your mouth as Ron looked over his shoulder with dismay. Right then, Harry let out a wild yell that matched your own as he finally grabbed the Snitch, its golden wings flapping uselessly in Harry’s hand. 

With that, the game was finally over, and the fourteen of you descended. Your team had joyous grins on their faces, while Fred’s team looked a bit despondent, but still like they had enjoyed the game. You had to admit, that had been some of your best playing yet, and by the impressed looks on everyone’s faces, you knew they agreed. 

You and George landed first. George’s red hair was wind-tousled, and his forehead and neck were shining with slick sweat; you were sure you looked the same. His chest was heaving as he tried to slow his breathing down, his hand bringing the hem of his jacket up to wipe his face. George’s movements exposed his slender, but strong abdomen and the shadowed valleys his hip bones left as they disappeared into the hem of his pants. 

“Holy shit,” Fred breathed, his face red with exertion as he and the others touched the ground. His words were a welcome distraction from where your gaze had previously been glued for some reason. “Scales, you and George need to play together more often because that was-”

“Absolutely bloody fucking brilliant, that’s what!” Ginny exclaimed, patting you on the back excitedly. “I mean, okay, I know we lost and all, but Merlin’s beard you two!”

You could feel your face flush with embarrassment, but luckily the wind had already reddened your face with its raw cold. George looked similarly as he tugged his goggles off and pulled them down to rest around his neck. 

“Really, that was incredible to watch,” Harry said, still clutching the struggling Snitch in his gloved hand. 

The rest of them voiced their agreement, besides Khaleia, but you really didn’t pay much mind to that. Even McLaggen begrudgingly admitted it was rather a good play. George looked at you, and for probably the first time ever, you couldn’t find a single trace of resentment in his expression, which made you shiver. 

Everyone went to put the balls and brooms away, laughing and smiling with their windswept hair and frozen limbs. That left you and George, since Fred had instructed the two of you to make sure everything on the pitch was in place so no one suspected they had played a game there. You and George silently walked around, making sure everything was okay, before beginning to pull down the orbs of light with your wands. The protective enchantments would fade within the next three hours, so the light the last thing that had to be done before returning to the castle. 

As you called down the light, you said, “Thank you, by the way. You really won the game for us.”

George, his wand outstretched, replied, “It’s nothing, really. Just playing like I always do.”

“We’ve played together plenty. There’s never been anything like that before, though,” you said as the last bit of light disappeared into your wand tip, leaving the two of you in pure moonlight. 

The shadows seemed to dance across his face as George turned to you, the light of the full moon turning his amber eyes into silvery pools of honey. The wind was blowing softly, floating his cinnamon and broomstick wax scent over to you. The smell was warm, almost. You couldn’t quite tell what expression he was wearing, but his voice was soft as he spoke. “Playing with you just felt...natural this time.”

“Natural?” You asked. 

George nodded. “Natural, like I could tell what you were thinking. I could read you, what you were about to do, I guess.”

“Oh,” you breathed. 

“You’re a good player, Scales” he told you, lowering his voice to match the pitch of yours. 

You weren’t sure why, but his words made your chest tighten. “Really?”

He nodded once more. “You...you’re different than I thought you’d be this year.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, and strangely, the few feet between the two of you felt much shorter. 

“I mean,” George hesitated. “You’re---”

“Oi!” Fred’s voice called out, far too loud for the dark, quiet night that surrounded you. “Are you coming or should we just let Umbridge find you out here?” 

George rolled his eyes, giving you a tilt of his head to indicate the two of you should go. You nodded in response, and as you exited the pitch, you couldn’t help but feel...disappointed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lovely readers! a little bit of a spicy chapter for you, but i promise there is much more to come!

The next weekend was All Hallow’s Eve---better known as every student at Hogwarts’ favorite holiday. Not because of the actual holiday itself, no, but because of the masquerade party that was held every year for fifth year students and up. Part of it was for celebration, and part of it was for taking a breather from the never-ending piles of homework and tests. 

And part of it was to get entirely drunk off your ass. The professors didn’t know about that part, though. Or, if they did, they always chose to turn a blind eye to the punch that was always spiked and the strange, widespread bout of headaches and squinted eyes the next morning. 

Hermione said Muggles dressed up for Halloween: angels, devils, their favorite characters, or really anything one could think of. The Wizarding world didn’t do costumes, but there was one thing the two societies had in common.

The outfits were always as revealing as possible. 

This year was no exception, of course. Umbridge had tried her hardest to put a stop to the dance, but even she couldn’t argue that it was tradition. Magic folk were rather insistent when it came to tradition. 

After an unsuccessful attempt at canceling the party the weekend before, Umbridge had become even more of a tyrant than usual, but it didn’t seem to bother most students. You’d been looking forward to the party since last year’s and nothing could put a damper on that, even that frogish professor and her shrill voice. 

The week passed in a blur of homework and lectures and late nights in the library, but come Saturday, you were sitting in Hermione’s Prefect room in the Gryffindor tower. She was helping you arrange your hair into an artfully loose braid that left soft, curling tendrils of hair framing your face. 

Her fingers moved quickly as she twisted your hair together, her brow furrowed with concentration. Hermione was wearing her hair down in a strange turn of events, and it seemed like she had used that hair potion she had used for the Yule Ball, because her normally wild, frizzy curls were tamed into a smooth pattern. Really, she looked rather beautiful and you had made sure to tell her so. 

The mask worn to the party was a massive portion of the celebration. Every year, students did their best to pick out the prettiest, most ornate, most detailed mask they could find. There was no rule regarding what it could look like other than it had to hide a majority of one’s face. 

That was just fine with you; it meant anonymity, which meant you didn’t have to worry about your actions during the party, especially once you had had a good amount of spiked punch warming your veins. Some students even cast faint Illusion charms on themselves to really disguise themselves, but you hadn’t bothered last year, nor would you this time round. 

This year, you had honestly outdone yourself with the help of Hermione and Ginny. The two of them had suggested in a bit of a joking manner one night while studying that your mask should be snake-themed because of Fred and George’s not-so-affectionate nickname for you. At first you had laughed, but then you realized it truly would be the perfect disguise for you. 

It had taken a while, including a few visits to the shop in Hogsmeade that sold masks during this time of year specifically for the older Hogwarts students, but you had finally found your mask the day before the dance. 

It was truly something, too. When you had shown Hermione, she’d gasped at the sheer beauty of the thing. It was a half-face mask, circling around your eyes and covering just past the bridge of your nose and most of your forehead. The mask itself was a deep black that glinted dimly in direct light, but the details were what really set it apart. 

There were four golden, intricately detailed snakes slithering across the mask; one diagonally below each eye and one diagonally above, their tails almost intertwining but not quite. The snakes faced the center of the mask, creating a bit of a frame. Small gold swirling details graced the space between the snakes on the temples of the mask and spread down to where it would barely cover your cheek bones. Between the two snakes that rested on the forehead of the mask, an emerald the size of a knut lay right in the middle, surrounded by a small frill of gold. 

The emerald was fake, of course, but Merlin’s beard, it was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever laid eyes on. Hermione and Ginny had both vehemently agreed, but when Harry and Ron had asked to see you, you’d told them they’d have to wait. It was supposed to be a bit of a secret, after all. 

You’d decided to let the gold bits of the mask be the star of the show, so you dressed in all black with subtle gold accents in the form of jewelry and hair accessories. As dresses for the party went, it was a tad conservative, but you didn’t want to look gaudy or flashy. No, you wanted to be dark, mysterious, and as Hermione finished your hair, you thought you had certainly accomplished that. 

The dress was simple, but it hugged your body in a way that had even you appreciating it. It had long, off-the-shoulder black sleeves, a plunging collar that exposed only the very beginning of your chest, and it landed a mere few inches beneath the tops of your thighs. There was a line of ruching down the center front of the dress, adding some depth to the fabric. 

A simple dress, but effective. You thought you looked rather good in it.

Add the black thigh high socks and the black combat boots, and you were practically a walking shadow. You loved it. Hermione had finished off your braid with a small gold ribbon, and with the gold dangly earrings that looked like lines of small chainlinks and the delicate, plain gold necklace that traveled down your chest into the top hem of your dress, you were ready. 

You had to admit you were not normally the gold type, but it certainly fit this look far better than you had anticipated. 

“You look brilliant!” Hermione told you as Ginny walked in.

Ginny mimed a whistle. “Merlin’s beard! More like bloody hot as hell,” Ginny added, making you laugh. 

“Why, thank you,” you said to the both of them. “I do look rather nice if I say so myself.”

You helped Ginny and Hermione get ready, and once they were in their dresses and masks, the three of you put on the finishing touches and started down towards the party. Ginny had gone with a black dress as well, with a white and black checkered mask, and Hermione had gone with a pale green dress and silver owl mask that made her eyes stand out beautifully. 

The dance was being held in the Great Hall, as it was furthest from the common rooms and the teacher’s quarters, meaning the students could be loud and up late without bothering the rest of the castle. 

A handful of students from Ravenclaw had been put in charge of decorating the space, and you let out an appreciative breath as you walked into the hall. Gone were the tables and any traces that it had been a dining hall not four hours before. The candles floating overhead had been enchanted to burn silver and gold, casting shadows that looked as if they were alive. The fires were burning low, so as to not cast too much light. A few tables lay around the room with punch and food, and eclectic music that sounded like the Weird Sisters was pulsing throughout the hall. 

The stars overhead shone brilliantly and you couldn’t help but stare at them for a moment before you saw what was unmistakably Harry, Ron, and Dorian standing in a corner. The hall was rather dimly lit, but that only enhanced the mystery of the masks. 

Ginny muttered something about them being socially inept that made you snort as the three of you walked towards your friends. 

“Wait, ‘Mione, is that you?” Ron asked hesitantly, and you would’ve bet all the Galleons in Gringotts that she was blushing. Ron’s mouth was slightly ajar in an expression of disbelief, and you noted the way his eyes flickered up and down Hermione’s form.

Hermione nodded. “Hi, Ronald. Harry, Dorian, you look handsome.”

Harry shrugged and Dorian gave her a cocky grin. “Oh, I know,” Dorian said. 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his confidence. “Save it for the poor girl you end up seducing tonight, won’t you?”

Dorian narrowed his eyes at you. “I’ll have you know, I’ve not one complaint from anybody I’ve shagged, thank you very much.”

You grinned at him broadly and he returned the action. “Drinks, anybody?” Ron asked. 

All of you nodded and in a timid voice, Hermione volunteered to accompany him to the crystal bowl of vivid red punch. Ginny and you shared a look that had confusion flitting across Harry’s face. 

By now, most students were present, and you found a few people that caught your eye. The lighting of the room was strange enough that it was nearly impossible to discern who someone was unless you were up close or speaking to them. That sent a pleasant ripple down your spine; it made it much easier to have a few stolen, meaningless minutes with someone when you would never find out who it was. 

You had just turned to the door as a group walked in, and your breath stopped dead in your lungs as you watched one of the boys walk in. He was  _ tall _ , just like you preferred, and you could tell by the way his black button-up hugged his shoulders even in the low lighting that he had at least some muscle to his frame. He walked with a confidence that you didn’t find irksome as he strode into the hall with his group. If you had to take a guess, he was brunette, but most of his hair was obscured by how dark it was. 

And his mask? Stars above, even yours paled in comparison. It wasn’t that it was detailed, because it wasn’t. It was relatively plain, but the starkness of it merely made it more eye catching. The mask itself was white, shadowed with gray and sculpted to resemble a skull that covered half the mysterious boy’s face. The cheekbones of the mask were prominently carved, giving his face an elegant, lethal air. 

On either side of the top of the skull-like mask, two black, or maybe very dark gray, curled from the forehead up and back towards the sides of his head. They were ridged, strong, and something about the color of them made the intimate lighting occasionally reflect off them in a flash of dull silver. 

The mask’s lower edge framed the bottom half of his nose and his mouth, which was plush with a steeply curved Cupid’s bow that was practically begging you to kiss it. You had no idea why this boy was so alluring, especially as he barely spared you a glance before being greeted by a girl in flowing purple-or maybe blue, you mused- dress that seemed to float around her frame. 

A hope that the two weren’t involved ran through your mind before Hermione and Ron returned with refreshments, some of the cups Levitated and floating out in front of the pair. You all extended your thanks and took the drinks, the smell of alcohol noticeable even as you held it in front of you. 

Dorian sniffed the drink before putting the cup to his mouth. A slight wrinkle of his nose as he drank indicated the liquor to punch ratio was rather unequal. “Good Godric, that’s strong,” he rasped as the alcohol burned his nose and throat. 

“All the better, right?” Harry mused as the rest of you followed Dorian’s lead. 

The sharp, pointed taste of alcohol flooded your mouth almost immediately, followed by the faintest burst of fruit that was the only indication this wasn’t pure liquor. A burn enveloped your nose and coursed down your throat as you swallowed, but it wasn’t an entirely unwelcome sensation. 

Small talk ensued, but as you were draining the last drops of bright liquid from your cup, one of the Weird Sisters’ most popular songs started drowning out most of the other noise in the room with its heavy beat and not so subtle lyrics. 

Ginny gasped, tugging your arm roughly. “I love this song! Come dance with me! Please!” 

Her words were a half-shout in an attempt to fight the pounding music, but even then you had to strain to hear her. Hermione gave you a look that you took to mean,  _ Why the hell not? _ Swallowing the last bits of your drink, you nodded at Ginny. “Sure! Let’s go!”

“Boys?” You asked Ron, Harry, and Dorian. “You coming?”

The three of them shook their heads in almost perfect unison. “No,” Harry replied. “I’m a terrible dancer!”

Ron and Dorian repeated something similar, making you roll your eyes. “At least pretend like you want to have fun!”

Ginny tugged your arm once more to get you moving, and once you took your first steps, you realized the alcohol was beginning to spread its telltale warmth through you that indicated it was coursing through your veins. Whoever had spiked the punch this year had done a bloody fantastic job. 

The middle of the hall was serving as a quasi-dance floor, and it was  _ crowded _ . So crowded, in fact, that the three of you had a rather difficult time joining the dancing. Once you did, however, you all began to move to the music with swaying hips and bright grins that showed just how much you were enjoying yourself. 

You had accidentally bumped shoulders with a few students while dancing, but you paid that no mind as it was so packed it was nearly unavoidable. After that song had ended, a new one picked up, one with a low, heavy baseline and slower lyrics. A personal favorite of yours, if truth be told. Some people paired up, but the three of you and quite a number of the other students continued the previous style of solo movement. 

Laughing at a joke Ginny had just told about an incredibly touchy couple swaying to the right of you, you stepped back a bit as the combination of laughter and slight intoxication threw you off-kilter. You heard a deep  _ oof _ come from behind you as you ran into a solid, warm body. 

You turned around, an apology starting to fall from your lips, when you found yourself face to face with the boy in the skull mask from earlier. Your words died as you took him in, as his eyes that were shadowed both by the skull and the candles floating above you looked you up, then down, then up once more. 

Suddenly, the phrase ‘panty-melting’ had a new meaning.  _ Fuck. _

“Sorry,” you shouted over the music. 

The corner of the boy’s lips tugged up into a faint smirk that did something wonderful to your stomach. “No problem,” he answered over the music. “How about a dance to make up for it?”

Hermione and Ginny shot you encouraging looks that weren’t sly in the least, but you nodded your head, causing the boy’s cocky smile to widen. He extended his hand, and you took it, your tipsy brain marveling at the size difference. After guiding your hands to drape softly on his shoulders, his own landed on the small of your back, not quite low enough to brush your arse, but low enough to suggest he wanted to. 

He tugged you into him, leaving a rather indecent amount of space between your two bodies, but you certainly were not complaining. The music was too loud to allow for any substantial conversation, but the lack of conversation wasn’t awkward. If anything, it gave you more time to drink in the details of his face that weren’t covered by his alluring mask. The presence of his hands on your back was warm, almost hot, and his own eyes seemed unable to stay away from you for longer than a few seconds. 

As the two of you moved together, you could feel his hip bones brush against you every so often, and it only heightened the fluttering arousal that was beginning to burn low in your stomach. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but you felt entranced by his gaze, by the way his dark eyes seemed to be carefully scanning every bit of your body. In any other circumstance, you might’ve found yourself feeling uncomfortable or even a bit objectified, but with this mystery boy, you didn’t want him to stop looking. 

Even just his eyes sent warm shivers of want through you, especially as one of his large hands drifted a centimeter lower to rest on the top of your arse. You felt a bolt of arousal hit you as he moved you closer to him. Now, the two of you were practically chest-to-chest, and, satisfied with where you were, the mystery boy cast a long, obvious gaze down at your lips. You felt your heart thrum excitedly as he looked back up at your eyes, then once more at your lips. 

You’d been casting the same lustful looks at his lips, but who could blame you? You were pretty sure you’d do anything to feel his mouth against your own at this point, and his hands slowly slipping lower over your arse was doing nothing but make your want worse. 

Just as he did, the song ended, causing disappointment to crash through you. The boy didn’t remove his hands for a few moments, but once he did, the absence of his warm touch felt monumental. 

He shouted something that you thought was, “Drinks?” as the next song began, and you nodded quickly, wanting more of that relaxing fog to envelop your brain. 

As he left, you quickly turned around to Hermione and Ginny, but they weren’t where they had been before. You hadn’t noticed them leaving, though you wouldn’t have noticed anything short of an explosion, having been so smitten by your mystery boy.

Thankfully, you spotted him easily picking his way through the dancefloor back to you, two sloshing drinks grasped in his hands. Once he handed it to you, you lifted it to your lips, and that same bitter, sharp taste greeted your tongue. You had taken only a sip, but the boy in the skull mask downed his entire cup in one go. 

An impressive feat, you had to admit, especially since it was almost pure alcohol. Not wanting to be outdone, you lifted the cup to your lips a second time, making direct eye contact with the tall boy, and drained the rest of your drink.

His eyebrows lifted in amused surprise as you forced yourself not to let your face twist with the strong taste. You placed your cup in his outstretched hand and he dropped both receptacles on the floor, which was charmed with a spell that would transport anything dropped on it to the massive trash in the kitchen. It was a rather brilliant idea, especially as students grew more and more intoxicated and drinks became easier and easier to misplace or spill. 

The effects of your drink seemed to begin much faster than your first, but you reveled in the hazy warmth that seemed to wrap around your senses. Mystery boy held out his hand once more, and you took it, assuming he wanted to dance again. Instead of pulling you close, however, he pulled you after him as he pushed through groups of students in varying stages of drunkenness towards a shadowed, secluded corner against the back wall of the Great Hall. 

The boy tugged you in front of him once you entered the shadows, blocking the rest of the room from your view as his tall, lithe frame took up your entire field of sight. You didn’t mind, though, and you certainly didn’t mind when his hand came up to cup your face before pressing a hot, rough kiss to your lips. 

It took you only a fraction of a second to register that this incredibly attractive boy had started kissing you, and you returned his action with a fervor that had him already growing hard against your hip. You had always been a bit handsy when intoxicated, but it was even worse this time, because once you threaded your hands through his incredibly soft hair, you found you never wanted to stop touching him. 

With your encouraging tug of his hair, the boy pressed closer, one of his legs coming between your own and the other on the outside of your left. Good Godric, he was so  _ big _ , something that you had never quite realized turned you on so much. 

His other hand trailed up your torso, up your chest, until it reached your neck, making you let out a soft gasp just at the prospect of the position. You felt him laugh into your mouth, but it wasn’t a vindictive sound. It was a sound that nearly had your knees weak with lust. 

He squeezed down gently on the column of your throat, making your head start to spin pleasantly as he obstructed your blood flow. The movement had you unconsciously bucking your hips against his only once, but once was enough to make heat flood your face with embarrassment at your clear desperation. 

The boy obviously didn’t mind, because he mimicked the motion, grinding his body against yours in a slow, mind-melting way that had you softly moaning into his mouth. You could feel he was as turned on as you were, which made your increasingly drunk brain forget about your previous shame as he ground his clothed erection against you. 

Being seen by the other students was merely a passing thought and as the boy tugged your bottom lip between his teeth, bit down roughly, and clamped his hand even tighter around your neck, it disappeared completely. 

Merlin’s bloody beard, this boy was already driving you wild and you’d only been kissing a few short minutes. 

The hand that was cupping your face moved to the nape of your neck, leaving a trail of sparks as it did. Suddenly, the boy had splayed his hand out across your scalp and grabbed a handful of hair, using it to tug your head back and expose your neck. 

A whimper left your mouth as he did, and the smile it earned from him made you want to squeeze your thighs together for even the tiniest bit of friction. Tugging once more, this time a little harder, he began kissing and nipping at your neck while the other hand slid to your arse, cupping it roughly and pushing your hips towards his. 

His thigh shifted accidentally, brushing against the aching spot between your hips, and you had to bite your cheek to keep yourself from the loud, pleasured noise that almost escaped your mouth. The boy had felt your hips stutter, though, and he repeated the movement, his muscled thigh offering friction that was so delicious you could barely see straight. 

That also might’ve been from the liquor you’d consumed, but it didn’t matter because the boy stopped leaving heavy, sharp kisses on your neck and moved back to your mouth. His tongue swiped against your bottom lip and you immediately opened your mouth, letting him deepen the kiss as the flavor of alcohol and fruit flooded your mouth. 

Though the fine strands of his hair felt wonderful between your fingers, you were itching to feel the muscled plane of his chest and abdominals that tensed beneath the dark fabric of his shirt. Slipping your hands down, you ran light touches down his chest and his stomach, feeling each muscle shift and release as you continued kissing him. 

He looked muscular from afar, but his tall stature hid the strong muscle that was packed beneath his skin that practically had you panting as you ran your touches further south, nearing but never touching below his navel. 

Your dress had ridden up, exposing even more of your thighs, and the boy seemed unable to stop touching your legs. The hand that wasn’t keeping your hips pressed against his was trailing slow, langid touches up the inside of your thigh, inching higher with every pass. 

The combination of his mouth, rough and fervent, his thigh grinding against you, and his hand sparking fire along your leg had you nearly ready to pull him into the closest empty room so that you could feel his touch where your body was aching for it so terribly it felt like you might actually collapse. 

Right as you were about to suggest just that, a head-pounding, banging noise burst from the other side of the room, making the boy pull away from you. The loss of his mouth against yours made you jut out your lower lip in pout that you would’ve been embarrassed of if you hadn’t been so drunk. 

The boy craned his head to try and catch a glimpse of what was happening, and he must’ve seen something interesting, because he turned back to you with a wild grin plastered across his face. Over the deafening music, he tried to say, “Sorry, love, I’ve got to go!” 

You only caught the  _ sorry _ and the  _ go _ , but you figured out the gist of his words. Tugging the hem of your dress down, you nodded to show you understood, and with a wink that you could barely see because of how dark the room was, your mystery boy was gone. 

Your heart was still racing as you watched him quickly walk away towards the direction of the noise. Someone came up to him, saying something that made the boy throw his head back and had his shoulders shaking with laughter. 

Students were beginning to trickle out of the hall, tired and ready to call it a night. You spotted Ginny and Hermione among them, tailed by a rather flustered Harry. Ginny saw you the same time you saw her, and she pointed you out to Hermione, who waved happily. 

“Hey! We lost you!” Ginny shouted over the clamoring noises. “We left to get drinks and when we came back, you’d gone!”

“I thought you left me!” You answered. “Turned around after that dance and I couldn’t see you!”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Ginny said, lowering her volume as you all exited the Great Hall and left the loud atmosphere behind. “But, um, it looks like you found a way to pass the time.”

Stumbling over a raised bit of stone flooring, you snorted as you righted yourself. “Is it that obvious?”

Hermione giggled. “Your hair is a mess and you’ve got a line of red marks on your neck. Plus, you’re all flushed,” she informed you. “You and Harry have matching blushes! That’s so cute.”

Ginny sighed loudly, her words a bit tangled. “Harry won’t tell us what’s got him all hot and bothered, the git.”

“I told you, I’m not  _ all hot and bothered _ ,” Harry defended. “Nothing happened.”

“Sure, Potter,” Ginny said. “S’cute look on you, though.”

At that, Harry’s flush deepened, but you were hardly sober enough to discern why. “So who’d you snog?” He asked, changing the subject. 

Fine by you, because that boy in the skull mask was going to be all you could talk  _ or _ think about for the foreseeable future. “No clue, but that’s the fun of it, isn’t it? Could’ve been anyone,” you answered, trying to recall any features that might give you any clue as to who it had been. “I’ll tell you what, though,” you continued, making yourself laugh a bit with the way your words felt like cotton in your mouth. “One hell of a kisser. Had me just about ready to find an empty broom closet and--”

“Okay, okay,” Harry interrupted as your group arrived at the base of the stairs. “We best get some rest, especially you three. I’d not be surprised if at least one of you throws up tonight.”

You crinkled your nose. “Ew. That’s gross. Besides, I don’t throw up.”

Ginny, even in her drunken state, gave you a disbelieving look. “Funny, since I remember cleaning up your vomit last summer after we stole Dad’s firewhiskey and you almost--” Ginny clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops, not supposed to say that.”

_ Oh, right _ , you thought. The memory of how much more the firewhiskey had burned coming back _up_ made you shudder. 

“Wait, you almost what?” Harry asked. 

Your head was spinning wildly now and you felt rather unsteady on your feet. “Harry, I’m much too drunk for those kinds of questions,” you told him, frowning slightly. “Ask again later.”

Hermione snorted. “You sound like a Magic-8 ball!”

You laughed a moment later, your intoxicated brain having finally caught the joke. Harry rolled his eyes, clearly not as drunk as the rest of you. “Alright, I think it’s officially bed time,” he told the three of you. 

“Fine, fine,” you said. “Good luck getting up those stairs. I’d not trust them, you know. Sneaky little bastards.”

Ginny and Hermione giggled again, making Harry shake his head. With a final goodnight, you parted from your friends to make the short walk down to the dungeons. A few minutes and a few stumbles later, you landed in your bed, soaking in the softness of your downy pillows. As you drifted off to sleep, the boy in the skull mask’s covered face filled your mind until darkness finally claimed you. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello loves! ill be honest ive had a really hard time writing this week but i hope this chapter still is entertaining! cant wait to hear your thoughts on it<3 enjoy!

The pounding headache that pulled you from sleep was almost worth the fun you had the night before. 

Almost. 

It seemed, as you walked out into the cold Slytherin common room, that most of the older students were thinking similarly. You felt bleary-eyed and the drowsy fog of sleep still wrapped around your head. Spotting Briar and Eva sitting on a couch in front of the crackling fire that was radiating an incredibly inviting warmth, you slowly made your way over to them. Your steps were slow, clumsy, as tiredness still trailed you. 

Briar noticed you first, giving you a small smile and nod of solidarity concerning your state, and Eva picked up one of the three steaming mugs that were sitting on the black table in front of them. “Coffee?”

You nearly groaned at the slightly bitter smell that wafted towards you as she held it out to you. “You’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

“This one had me up twenty minutes ago because she didn’t want to get coffee by herself, so I figured I’d grab one for you, too,” Eva told you, motioning to Briar, who had an innocent smile on her face. 

“I’d say I’m sorry that you had to go get them, but I’d be lying,” you told them. 

The first sip of coffee that hit your tongue was wonderfully hot and sweet, just how you preferred it. “Fuck, Eva. Have I ever told you I love you?”

Eva laughed lightly. “Yes, once or twice, but the sentiment is always nice to hear.”

“Hey, why don’t I get any thanks?” Briar interjected, holding her own mug close to her chest. 

“Because you were the one who pulled me out of my perfectly warm bed and made me come with you,” Eva told her. 

Briar stuck her tongue out at her, receiving a laugh from the girl. “We didn’t see you all night. You did go to the party, didn’t you?”

“Oh, I went,” you assured her, a grin sneaking across your lips. “It was quite a good night.”

Briar and Eva’s eyebrows raised simultaneously with interest. “Seems like it,” Eva said before taking a sip of her coffee. 

Confusion rippled through you before you clapped a hand to your neck as you remembered the boy’s teeth and mouth creating a mix of pleasure and pain on the sensitive area. “Is it bad?”

Briar laughed. “Not too terrible, no. But whoever you gave you that did a rather thorough job, it seems.”

You groaned. “Fuck. I’ll have to ask Hermione to cover it up.”

“Are you going to tell us how you got that, or are you going to leave us hanging?” Eva asked. 

The heavy, hot presence of the mystery boy’s hands, the delicious friction of his thigh against your hips, made arousal stir anew as you sipped your coffee before speaking. “As the dance was starting, I see this boy walk in, right? He was so... _elegant,_ so incredibly attractive that I swear I almost stopped breathing. But then, this girl came up to him, so I was pretty sure he was off limits, you know?”

Briar and Eva nodded, sipping their coffees as you spoke. “And then, I’m a bit tipsy and I’m dancing with Ginny and Hermione, and I bump into someone. I turn around, and there’s that guy again, and the way he looked at me, holy fuck, it was like…” 

You let out a sigh, remembering the way his lips had pulled up into a smirk that had you longing to find a dark corner and let him do whatever he’d pleased. 

“That hot?” Briar asked. 

“You have no idea,” you answered. “So I apologize, and then he asks me to dance. I say yes, and we start dancing, and this boy had to have been probably six inches taller than me at the very least. And the song ends way too soon, and I was a bit sad because I was sure he was going to leave, but then he went to get us drinks.”

“What a gentleman,” Eva said, making you grin. 

“Oh, he was a perfect gentleman until he pulled me to the back corner of the Great Hall,” you told them, a grin spreading across your face. 

“Did you...you know?” Briar asked. 

You laughed. “Merlin’s beard, no, not in the Great Hall! But, um, he certainly knows what to do with his hands and mouth. All we really did was kiss, but I swear he was wearing some enchanted cologne or lip balm, because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Briar finished her coffee before asking, “Any idea who he is?”

“Unfortunately, not a damn clue,” you said sadly. “A shame too, because I’d love to finish what we started.”

Briar snorted and Eva shook her head, smiling. “Well, I’m glad you had fun.”

You laughed. “I absolutely did. What about you two? I didn’t see either of you all night.”

“It sounds like you were a bit preoccupied, so I doubt you saw a lot of people,” Briar joked, making you giggle. “We went, but not for long.”

“Why not?”

You could’ve sworn a faint blush was creeping up Eva’s face, but it could’ve been from the coffee or the fire crackling in front of them. “Uh, just wasn’t really having much fun, I guess,” Eva said. 

“Besides, those things are only really fun if you’re drinking,” Briar added.

You nodded in understanding, remembering that Briar had sworn off alcohol after a particularly nasty incident involving Fire Whiskey and bad food poisoning the year before. The three of you finished your coffees, basking in the warmth of the fire for a moment longer, before you figured you should go check on Hermione and Ginny. 

Thanking your friends again for the coffee, you left the Slytherin common room, still in your sweatpants and sweater. It was far too early and far too cold to even consider changing into proper clothes. You didn’t see many people as you left the cold dampness of the dungeon and walked up the flights of moving stairs that led to the Gryffindor common room. 

The swinging steps made your stomach churn unpleasantly and you sucked in a slow breath of cold morning air to try and soothe the rising nausea. Perhaps you’d ask Hermione what to do about the nausea as well; you loathed feeling nauseous, even more than you loathed throwing up. 

Mumbling the password to the Gryffindor common room quietly, the portrait of the Fat Lady that served as the door swung open. The Lady yawned loudly as she let you in, indicating that even she was not ready to face the day quite yet. 

To your surprise, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Harry, and the twins were all sitting in the common room, curled into couches and basking in the crackling warmth of the fire. It seemed Fred and Ron were teasing George about something, because they both had matching grins on their faces while George’s was turning red. 

You plopped down beside Ginny, who smiled at your arrival. “Hey! You showed up just in time to hear what Georgie got up to last night.”

“Oh?” You asked, pulling a corner of Ginny’s blanket over your legs. 

“I didn’t get up to anything,” George replied, clearly exasperated.

Fred rolled his eyes. “Mate, we’ve been over this. Jordan and I lost you for nearly fifteen minutes, and the Great Hall isn’t that big, so we know you weren’t just wandering around. Besides, we know you were close because you came running right when Jordan accidentally set off his wand.”

Just like your mystery boy. 

“And you’re getting all defensive, which means you have something to hide,” Hermione chimed in. George shot her a sharp look but Hermione merely shrugged. 

“C’mon, Georgie. Just tell us and we’ll stop bothering you. What, did you kiss a girl and then find out it was a guy?” Fred joked. 

“I did _not_ kiss a guy,” George snapped. “I know for a fact she was a girl. No guy I’ve ever seen had such a great set of--”

Ron hit George’s arm with a closed fist, cutting him off and making him rub his arm as he glared at his younger brother. 

Fred let out a triumphant noise. “So there was a girl!”

“Yes, fine, but I don’t understand why you’re making such a deal out of it,” George grumbled. “Really, all we did was kiss.”

“See, that’s all you had to say. It wasn’t hard to tell afterwards, though.”

George’s ears flared red. “What? Why?”

Fred snorted. “Your hair was all messed up and you could barely focus on what we were doing for more than a few seconds. Seems like you couldn’t stop thinking about your _mystery girl_ ,” he teased, making George shove him. 

“Who was it, anyways?” Harry asked. 

George shrugged. “Merlin, I dunno. She was wearing a mask just like everyone else. I’d never seen anything like it, though. It was black with these gold snakes all over it. The lights made it seem like the snakes were moving. It was rather fascinating.”

Your stomach dropped faster than the time you’d ridden a roller coaster and it had raced towards the ground without warning, plunging you down and only pulling back up at the very last second. Everyone else besides Fred and George were having the same revelation as you apparently, as they all turned and looked at you with varying degrees of shock on their faces. 

_There was no way..._

Everyone was silent for a few moments that seemed to drag on forever before George said, “What? What is it?”

Fred seemed to catch on right then as he spotted the red marks staining your neck. His mouth dropped open in an ‘O’ of surprise as he glanced back and forth between the two of you. “No fucking way,” he swore. 

George’s eyes met yours, then flicked down to your neck, then back up to your eyes. “No fucking way,” he repeated. “Scales? No fucking way.”

Your mystery boy had been _George fucking Weasley_ ? There was no way in hell, you thought. It had to be a massive joke, because even _you_ wouldn’t be so unlucky. As you studied George’s face, his mouth, you realized with a sinking, heavy feeling that it was. It had been those lips you couldn’t take your eyes off of, _his_ grin that had nearly made you melt on the spot. 

Merlin’s fucking beard. You had made out with _George_. You had let him kiss you, had…

Fuck, you’d grinded on his fucking _thigh_. 

You’d never wanted to hide more in your entire life as your friends continued to stare at the two of you like you’d committed some heinous crime. You could barely look at George without the memories from the night before surging up, making heat pool in your hips against your will. Without meaning to, you looked down at his hands, the ones that had felt so enticing and addicting against your skin as you’d kissed him. The hands that had wrapped so deliciously around your throat and tugged on your hair. 

Suddenly, Fred began laughing, and Ron, Ginny, and Harry joined him. Your face flushed red and you felt embarrassment fill your chest as you resisted the urge to run out of the common room and jump off the highest tower in Hogwarts. 

“It’s not fucking funny,” George insisted. 

Wiping a tear from her eye, Ginny spoke through her laughter. “Yes, it absolutely is. You should’ve heard her going on about you last night, too.”

You nearly smacked Ginny upside the head at that. You had not _gone on_ about him. You had barely talked about him at all. 

Thoughts don’t count. Merlin, you hoped they didn’t fucking count. 

“Ginny, I swear I’ll do your chores at home for the rest of my _life_ if you tell me what Scales said,” Fred begged. 

“Merlin, I’d tell you anyways!” Ginny answered. “I believe it was something along the lines of him being ‘one hell of a kisser’ and that she was nearly ready to-- _ach,_ bloody hell,” Ginny swore as you smacked her on the shoulder. 

There was no way in _hell_ you’d let her tell George that you’d wanted to shag him. The sheer embarrassment just from kissing him was almost enough to make you curl into a ball and die. You knew the pleading look you sent her wasn’t hidden from the view of the rest of the group, but you really couldn’t deal with anyone else knowing what you had said. Ginny raised her eyebrows, but didn’t say anything more. 

“One hell of a kisser, eh?” George echoed, his ego clearly boosted by your words. 

“I was drunk, and obviously my judgement was incredibly poor last night. You’re probably a terrible kisser and I was just too wasted to realize,” you told him, willing your face not to flush once more. 

Fred snorted, amused by your reply. It was a lie; a massive, incredibly untrue lie, but no one else needed to know that. George’s ego did not need more fuel, especially not from you. The look he sent you, though, called your bluff. It had been very apparent that you’d enjoyed him kissing you, touching you, pressing his hips against yours. You just hoped he wouldn’t tell the group that. 

“Besides, you were the one who kissed me first,” you added, making Fred whistle. 

“Good Godric, this just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?” Harry asked. “I hope the two of you know none of us are _ever_ letting this go.”

Yes, you did know that, thank you very much. You didn’t expect anything less from your friends. “It’s not like any of you haven’t done embarrassing shit while you’re drunk,” you grumbled. 

“‘Course we have,” Ron answered, his hand pressed to his side to ease the stitches that were cramping his side. “But this takes the fucking cake. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.”

You had half a mind to shove Ron, but you settled for an icy glare instead. George’s face seemed stuck in an expression of partially horrified realization from what he had done. You prayed you’d been a good kisser, if for no other reason than minimized mortification if George ever decided to run his mouth about it. 

The worst part wasn’t your friends laughing, or the fact that George seemed nearly ready to vomit once he found out. The worst part was that you had _enjoyed_ it, and finding out it had been George hadn’t changed a damn thing. 

Once the group had gotten their fill of fun at yours and George’s expense, the boys split off to go to the quick morning practice their Quidditch team had scheduled. That left you, Ginny, and Hermione to spend the rest of the morning relaxing and fending off your matching headaches. Hermione had effortlessly covered up the marks on your neck, much to your relief. 

They didn’t say anything further about you and George. The two of them knew you well enough to know when to stop pressing about something, and you certainly were not quite ready to face the reality of your actions just yet. You didn’t want to come to terms with the fact that last night might have changed much more than you first thought.

Breakfast was warm and much-needed, helping to settle your tumultuous stomach. You’d managed to keep the contents down even after you felt your body start to reject the heavy meal of eggs and pancakes you’d eaten. Ginny and Hermione had invited you along to Hagrid’s, but you’d politely declined. Your head was still aching and you really just wanted to get more rest. 

Hermione and Ginny left to Hagrid’s right after eating, leaving you to walk back to the Slytherin common room. Sleep was calling your name like a siren; not only because of your headache, but because sleep meant you didn’t have to think. And you didn’t want to think about _anything_ right now. 

You heard footsteps jogging behind you, but you paid no mind until you heard George call out from right behind you, “Scales! Wait up!” 

_Shit._

Pretending you hadn’t heard him was incredibly appealing, but you decided against it. It was probably best to get this conversation over with, right?

Gritting your teeth, you turned around, and the sight that met your eyes had you wishing it was still the night before. George was sweaty, still in his Quidditch robes, and his red hair was tousled from the ripping speed of the wind. His cheeks and nose were kissed red by the cold air, and his chest was rising quickly with heavy breaths. His burgundy and gold robes were hugging his shoulders and torso in a way that had the memory of your hands trailing down his chest at the forefront of your mind. 

“Yes?”

George ran his hand through his hair, messing up the ginger locks even further. “Um, about last night…”

“I know. I’m not going to say anything about it, okay?” You said before he could finish. “We can just forget it happened.”

George walked closer, the salty scent of musk hitting your nose as he did. “That’s...dammit,” he swore, making you furrow your brow. “I mean, yes, those gits don’t need to know any more about what happened. It’s none of their business, the nosy bastards.”

“Okay, great,” you said, doing your best to ignore the strange feeling in your gut. “It never happened, then.” 

George chewed on the inside of his cheek as you spoke. “Is that what you want?” 

His question made you feel... _odd_ , to say the least. Of course it was what you wanted. It had been a bit obvious that he had regretted it when it’d been revealed in the common room that it had been you he’d been kissing. 

Not that you didn’t want to forget it, but he was also your best friend’s brother. Your best friend’s brother who had been varying degrees of awful to you ever since he found out you were a Slytherin. “Yes,” you answered. “Why? I figured you’d rather eat slugs than have anyone know you kissed me.”

“Fine, then it’s forgotten,” George decided, but you didn’t miss the way he dodged your question. “Don’t blame me if you can’t stop thinking about me, though.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You’re the last thing I’d think about like that.”

George smirked, the same smirk that had wetness pooling between your legs the night before. “Didn’t seem that way last night, Scales.”

“Doesn’t count, you bloody git. I was drunk,” you insisted. 

George let out a small laugh. “Drunk or not, I could feel just what you were thinking.”

His insinuation made you suck in a shocked breath. That _asshole._ “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Now he was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his muscled body. “You really shouldn’t tell lies, Scales,” George reprimanded, his voice dropping lower with his proximity. 

He was too close for your comfort. His presence felt daunting, overwhelming, especially now that you knew just how his hands felt against your skin as they grazed your curves. 

Your world felt like it had been flipped upside down. Before last night, you’d never even imagined kissing George, and now...now the bastard was talking about you grinding on his damn thigh like it was nothing. Like feeling him press into your hips with only a few layers of fabric separating you wasn’t a big deal at all. You’d been turned on because it was a damn _stranger_. It couldn’t be George that was making you feel so shaky, so unsure, because you hadn’t even known it was him until an hour or two ago. 

He was just giving you shit. There was no way he was serious. George would never actually pursue you like that. He had Khaleia for that, didn’t he? 

“I’m not lying,” you told him, doing your best to only look at his eyes, even though he was so close the tips of your shoes were touching his. Even though your hands and eyes itched to move elsewhere. “I didn’t know it was you. You know I’d never kiss you on purpose. I don’t really go for other girl’s seconds.”

Harsh words, terrible words, really, but it helped you put yourself back where you needed to be. You needed to be the sharp, antagonizing Slytherin that George loathed, because you knew that person. You didn’t know the person that was doing anything she could to avoid looking at George’s wind-chapped lips. 

Sweet Salazar, there had to have been something in the punch last night that still hadn’t left your system. What was wrong with you?

George raised a single brow at you. “Rather strong words for someone who’s had her fair share of all the boys here.”

“What I do and who I do it with is none of your damn business, or did you not hear me the first six hundred times I’ve told you that?” 

“Seems like it is my business, now that I’ve joined your extensive list of people you’ve kissed,” George said.

You glared at him, crossing your arms in front of you. “Well, it isn’t. Fuck off, George. I thought we agreed we’d forget it.”

“Like you could actually forget me kissing you,” George boasted. 

“There’s nothing I want more,” you snapped. “I practically threw up in my mouth when I realized it was you.”

You were being too defensive, you knew that. But you didn’t like the way you were feeling in that moment, because you couldn’t fucking figure out _what_ exactly you were feeling. It had been a mistake, a giant cosmic joke, to have your mystery boy turn out to be George. You’d never even had the slightest interest in being one of his little trysts that he indulged in before tossing them to the side once he got bored. 

You had more damn self-respect than to kiss George Weasley on purpose. 

George’s eyes narrowed. “You’re acting like I’m pleased I accidentally made out with you. I could barely stop myself from running out of the room and rinsing my mouth with soap until I finally got every last trace of you out. Who knows what diseases you could’ve given me?” 

“Then why won’t you piss off and go bother Khaleia? Seems like she doesn’t mind sloppy kissers,” you said. Maybe bringing up Khaleia would smack some sense into him. 

“I see through this little fucking act you’re putting on,” George told you, ignoring the mention of her name. “And you’re more of a fucking child than I thought. Why can’t you just lighten up? Merlin’s beard, it was just a few minutes of kissing. You weren’t even good,” he snarled, suddenly filled with anger. 

You clenched your fists, willing them to stay by your sides instead of clashing with George’s face. “Leave me the hell alone, Weasley. If you ever bring up last night again, I’ll--”

“You’ll what?” George scoffed. “You don’t scare me, Scales. You’re angry at yourself that you enjoyed kissing me, and you’re even angrier because finding out it was me didn’t make you dislike it at all.”

That had to have been him just being an arrogant bastard. There was no way he actually guessed that you had felt like that for a split second. You couldn’t even open your mouth to refute his statement, because apparently, George wasn’t done.

“No wonder all those guys leave you,” George continued, stepping back. “You’re a damn piece of work, and even you aren’t hot enough to make up for how aggravating and fucking irritating everything you do is.” 

“You’re an asshole,” you snapped, but your mind immediately latched onto the fact that he had just called you _hot_. 

George Weasley had just called you hot. It seemed that this day was just chalk full of unlikely surprises. 

“Wow, really hurt me with that one, you idiot. I thought Slytherins were supposed to be good at insulting people,” George sneered. “Cover up those hickeys, by the way. The spell’s worn off. You look like a damn mess.”

George turned and stalked off, leaving you with a hand clamped to your neck and a horrible mix of anger and arousal swirling in your stomach. Merlin’s beard, you hated George Weasley and kissing him had only made you despise him more. 

It _had_. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas my dear readers! this chapter is not only a little longer, but its quite the whirlwind, so i hope you like it! i hope you've all had a wonderful holiday season as well<3 thank you so much for the sweet comments they always mean the world

“You’ve got to be fucking joking!” Dorian said through his shaking laughter, struggling to get the sentence out as he gasped for breath.

You grimaced, hiding your face with your hands. “Fuck off,” you mumbled, the sound muffled. “I didn’t fucking know!”

Laying on your bed beside you, Briar was echoing Dorian’s laughter. “I know, I know, you hate him. He had a mask on. Don’t you see how incredibly hilarious this is? You kissed _George_. You hate him more than you hate Malfoy!”

“At least Malfoy doesn’t fucking pester me every change he gets,” you defend. “Can we just forget about it? Harry and Ron are already having a damn field day with it. It wasn’t like I did it on purpose!”

“Or,” Dorian said, finally calming down. “Or, you subconsciously knew it was him and that’s why you did it.”

You reached over, making Dorian yelp as you slugged him on the shoulder. “Ouch! Okay, fuck, it was just a joke!” Dorian said as he rubbed his arm. 

“Seriously, can we please just drop it? I already am disgusted enough as it is.”

Briar held up her hands, indicating she was done. “Sorry, I know it’s probably a sore spot. But really, it isn’t a big deal. At least George isn’t entirely ugly, you know? At least he doesn’t look like Pucey.”

You snorted at that. “You better not let him catch you saying that or he’ll have you out cleaning out the showers and locker rooms by hand like he had Crabbe do during second year when he mouthed off during practice.”

Briar wrinkled her nose, making you laugh. “I’d rather swallow a Blast-Ended Skrewt whole than do that.”

Propping herself on her elbows, Briar continued, “Speaking of boys, though, we have a double date tonight.”

You groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. “Briar, I told you-”

“I know, you didn’t want me to set you up anymore! But I really just need to get something out of my system, and the guy only agreed if I’d find someone for his friend. It’s not even really me setting you up. It’s more of a favor, really.”

Briar jutted out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “Please? For me? Because you love me?”

“Fine,” you sighed. “But if he’s weird or ugly or anything, I’m out of there. I mean it.”

Briar grinned and gave you a wet kiss on your cheek that made you scowl and wipe at your face with your sleeve. “I adore you, you know that?”

Waving your hand, you got up, starting to look for an outfit to wear for your date. “Who is it, anyways?”

“It’s Michael Sirota and he’s bringing his friend Jason... _shit,_ I forget his last name, but they’re both seventh year Hufflepuffs.”

Dorian laughed from his seat next to your bed. “Jason Livingston?”

Briar nodded her head. “Livingston! Yes, that’s it. Why? You know him?”

“Please tell me you’re not laughing because he looks like a troll or something,” you said as you picked out a pants and sweater combo that more than one boy had complimented you in before. 

“Nah, he’s fine. Just...interesting, that’s all,” Dorian informed you. “You’ll probably live, though. He’s nice enough.”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a short breath of frustration as you set out your clothes on your bed. “That definitely makes me feel better,” you replied sarcastically. “Now get out. I have to change.”

Dorian grinned. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, mate.” 

Narrowing your eyes, you turned around and shot him an exasperated glare. “That was one time, and you barely even got my shirt off. Besides, you were the one who said we’re better off as friends, so it’s your fault that you don’t get to see all this,” you said as you gestured to your body, a joking smile spreading across your face. “Don’t tell me you’re regretting it, Dor.”

“Ach, do not call me that,” Dorian grumbled. “You know I hate it.”

Standing up, he stretched his arms above his head. “Alright, you two. Stay safe, use protection, all that good stuff,” Dorian joked, dodging a pillow that Briar tossed at him. “Hey! Just looking out for you!” 

“Get out,” Briar complained, earning her a cheeky smile from the dark-haired boy as he exited, shutting the door behind him. 

\-------

After you both changed, you and Briar swiped on a bit of dark liner and mascara and left for your double date. To be honest, you weren’t entirely excited to go, but Briar had seemed like she really needed this, and she’d helped you out in the same situation more than once over the course of your friendship. 

Briar had said she needed to get something out of her system, and as the two of you walked to the front of the school to meet the boys, you realized you did, too. You needed to kiss someone, _anyone_ , so that George wasn’t the last person who had kissed you. It didn’t even really matter if they were all that good; you just needed to rid your mouth of every last trace of him. 

Because your brain was a damn traitor and a piece of shit, it kept reminding you of those few panting, hot moments you’d shared with him. If it had just been anyone else besides him, you wouldn’t care. You might even seek them out again, as much as you hated to admit it. And you would _never_ admit it, not out loud. But of course, George had to go and ruin things just like he always fucking did. 

Fighting with him earlier should’ve made you retch at the very thought of touching him so intimately if it hadn’t already. It should’ve, but it didn’t, and the tension that was building in your shoulders was starting to give you a headache. 

Sweet Salazar, you hoped this Jason boy was at least tolerable, because at this point, you’d take even that. 

Briar waved to who you assumed was Michael as you exited the school, shivering slightly at the drop in temperature. You weren’t terribly familiar with Michael, and you’d maybe crossed paths with Jason once or twice during your time at Hogwarts, but you honestly didn’t remember it if you had. 

Michael was a lanky figure with black, almost shaggy hair that curled slightly around his ears and at the nape of his neck. Add his brown eyes that were so dark they were almost black, and the ink that peaked out of the hem of his flannel sleeve and you weren’t surprised at all that he’d caught Briar’s eye. 

Jason had olive skin and rich brown hair that was almost as long as his companion’s. He had a straight nose that reminded you of a statue of Zeus you’d seen in a Muggle book once and his eyelashes were long and dark, making his green eyes pop wonderfully as he looked you up and down. 

God, you’d always been a sucker for green eyes. 

You almost let a sigh of relief loose, but you opted for sending Briar a quick, hopefully unnoticeable look of approval as you approached them. 

“Briar,” Michael said, smiling in that way that attractive boys who knew they were attractive did. “You look wicked.”

Briar rolled her eyes, but you noticed the faint blush that creeped up on her smooth skin. “Thanks, Michael. This is Jason,” she said, turning to you. 

You smiled faintly, assuming that comfortable uncaring air that caused so many boys in the past to hang onto your every word. “I like your ring,” you told him, your eyes darting down to where his long fingers were idly playing with the piece of jewelry. 

Jason glanced down at the silver and black signet ring that wrapped around his left ring finger. “Old family heirloom,” he replied simply. His words were curt, but the long, langid look he gave you was anything but. 

You could already tell he was a man a few words, but that was fine by you. Better than a tall ginger who ran his mouth every hour of the day. After a few more pleasantries were exchanged, the four of you set off towards the Astronomy tower, where Michael and Jason had left food and some Butterbeers from the Three Broomsticks that they had picked up earlier. 

The wind was biting and frigid, but once you caught Briar shivering as the air ruffled through her hair, you cast a warming charm that settled over the top of the tower, fighting off the wintry cold. You had to admit Michael and Jason had a nice little evening set up for the four of you; there were candles and warm food and plenty of alcohol to go around. There were a few pillows and blankets spread on the ground in a way of seating arrangements, making the normally stark, plain stone feel cozy. You went straight for a Butterbeer first, needing to ease the strained tension from the earlier events of the weekend from your body. 

Within minutes, Briar was practically sitting on Michael’s lap as they ate, sending him sultry glances from beneath her dark lashes that told you she wasn’t going to stick around much longer, and neither was Michael. Jason looked almost...bored as he sipped his drink, his lanky legs stretched out in front of him. 

Setting his drink down, Jason reached his arms up, letting out a soft sigh as he stretched. His shirt lifted slightly as he did, revealing a sliver of his hip bones that had your mouth almost watering as you traced down the valleys they made into the waistband of his jeans. His nonchalant demeanor intrigued you, and as the Butterbeer warmed your blood and fought away your pent-up stress, you found yourself wondering what you would have to do to get him to drop that unreadable expression. 

Briar was now whispering into Michael’s ear, and from the way that his hands were spread across her hips, occasionally gripping them tightly, you knew exactly what she was saying. Looking back at Jason, who was lounging next to you, he shot you a lazy smirk as he caught you staring at the pair.

“Seems like they’re rather friendly, doesn’t it,” Jason said to you, his voice a slow drawl as he looked at your friends and the way their hands were beginning to roam to places that called for more privacy than they had. 

“Sure does,” you answered, taking a sip of your drink. You certainly weren’t drunk, but you felt a pleasant buzz spreading through you that had your mind wandering to the way Jason’s hand curled around his pint of Butterbeer. Wondering how that hand would feel wrapped around other things. “Michael drag you along on a lot of dates?”

Jason sighed, shaking his head. “More than I’d like to admit. I’m assuming it’s the same with Briar?” 

You laughed as you nodded, a sound you hoped was bright and alluring, because George had made fun of your laugh more times than--

_Traitor_ . Your brain was a damn traitor to bring up that git, you chastised yourself. Why are you thinking about him? Jason’s far prettier, anyways. He was practically a dark prince with the way his green eyes sparkled with slight intoxication and the way his large, slim hand was now slipping over to rest on your thigh. Think about _Jason_. 

“Hey,” Briar called to you, making you turn your eyes to her. “Michael and I are going to get out of here. Don’t wait up, okay?” 

You nodded, noting the not-so-subtle way Michael was trying to hide the front of his pants as the two of them left, leaving you alone with Jason. Setting your empty drink aside, you turned your attention back towards Jason, who was looking at you with a cool expression that had heat igniting in your stomach. 

Jason began rubbing small circles on your thigh with his thumb, making that telltale ache start in your hips as his eyes flitted down to your mouth, then back up to meet your eyes. You quirked an eyebrow, almost as a silent challenge. Challenged him to do what he was so clearly thinking about. In response, the corner of Jason’s mouth drew up in a confident half-smirk before he leaned in, pressing his mouth against yours. 

He tasted of Butterbeer and apples, which was a combination you found incredibly pleasant, especially as his lips tangled with yours in a way that had your head spinning. Within a few moments, Jason was already tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth, making you whine softly into him. The pain was erased as he brushed his tongue along the aching flesh, causing you to open your mouth to deepen the kiss. It was almost intoxicating, the way that he pressed his lips to yours roughly for a few seconds, then pulling back and going back in for a few shorter, softer kisses that had your hands tangling in the front of his shirt in an attempt to tug him in even closer.

The way he kissed you reminded you of the way George had pressed his lips to yours so aggressively not even twenty-four hours before. That only strengthened your resolve to lose yourself in Jason, in his sweet, fiery touch. 

As you kissed him, Jason’s hand that was resting on your thigh squeezed roughly, trying to maneuver you onto his lap. You obliged happily, not breaking the kiss as you swung your leg over his to straddle his thighs. Gripping both your hips, Jason pulled yours flush with his and the sound you emitted as your bodies connected had him pressing up into you with a low groan. 

Warmth pooled between your thighs as you teasingly grazed your hips over Jason’s, his arousal becoming more obvious by the second. One of his hands was gripping your arse, but the other had just wrapped delicately around the column of your throat. Your hips stuttered, _kicked,_ as he applied pressure, his silver ring making you hiss softly as the cold metal pressed against your skin. Jason smiled at the noise, pulling back to look at you. 

“I had a feeling you were one of those girls,” Jason murmured, his voice gravelly. 

“Oh? And what kind of girl would that be?” You asked. 

His hand gripped your throat rougher than before, making you choke out a soft moan. “One of those girls that wants to be treated roughly,” he told you, tilting your head to the side and pressing a heated kiss to your pulse point just beneath your jaw. “One of those girls that loves pain just as much as she loves pleasure.”

_Shit_ , his words had your hips unconsciously grinding down and you can _feel_ him under you. “What, are my daddy issues that obvious?” You joked, but it was filled with a sort of nervous excitement that almost undercut your short laugh. 

Jason let out a deep, sensuous laugh. “I could tell by the way your eyes keep going for my hands. And by the way you reacted so quickly to such a small movement,” he said, squeezing his hand once for emphasis. “It’s…” Jason trailed off, licking his lips subtly as he took in the way your hand flew to wrap around his wrist. “Cute, how fast you respond.”

You couldn’t help it; your hips kicked again, making Jason growl low in his throat. “Lay down,” Jason told you, releasing his grip on your throat. 

Gladly, you obliged, bringing your leg back over his thighs, letting him slip out from under you. Your heart was beating quickly in your chest, in the way it only did when you were anticipating something exciting. Laying down, you looked up at him and shot him a confident smile. At another time, in another place, you might’ve teased him, given him a bit of a show, made him wait until he practically couldn’t hold himself back anymore. 

Not this time, no. Between the ginger boy that was hovering on the precipice of your mind and the way that Jason’s green eyes were studying every curve of your body like a work of art, you just wanted this to be quick, simple, and _rough_. Definitely rough. 

Jason returned your expression as he tugged off his jacket, exposing his arms that were corded with strength. Arms that had you thinking of just how rough he could be if he wanted. _Fuck_.

His shirt caught in his jacket as he removed it, and you took in the dark expanse of skin that showed as the hem was yanked up. Catching your gaze, Jason removed his shirt as well, allowing you to take in his bare chest and torso. He was a bit bulky, like he spent most of his free time training, and it showed; muscle rippled beneath his smooth skin with every movement. He had a spot of dark ink over his heart on his pectoral that you couldn’t quite make out, but you didn’t have much time to think over it anyways as Jason said, “You good with doing this on the Astronomy tower?”

And because you were a cheeky shit, you replied in an innocent voice, “Doing what?”

At this, Jason knelt down between your spread legs. He dragged his hands up slowly, starting from your knee and making his way up to the insides of your thighs. Grabbing them roughly, he tugged your legs apart and jerked your hips to his. Jason bent over you, one of his hands drifting to the space between your legs that was beginning to ache unbearably and ghosted his touch over you, making your breath hitch quietly. 

“Me fucking you until you’re a whining mess,” Jason whispered, making you bite your lip. 

Normally, you would put up a bit more of a fight, make the boy work for it more, but _fuck_ , all you needed was to rid your body of George’s touch that seemed to be overwhelming your brain, so you nodded. “You just going to talk or are we actually going to do this?”

Jason’s hand flew up to your throat, his grip rough as he pressed you into the ground. You gasped in a short breath as he smirked.“Mouthy little thing, aren’t you?”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before his lips were on yours once more and his other hand was fiddling with the bronze button of your jeans, deftly slipping it through the loop. You thanked yourself for having the foresight to cast a warming spell, because goosebumps ran across your skin as even the warmer night air made you shiver slightly. Pausing his kisses, he harshly tugged off your jeans and tossed them to the side, leaving you in just your sweater and underwear. 

Lifting his hand from your throat, he sat back on his haunches, drinking in the sight of you. “These are nice,” he told you as he toyed with the edge of the black lace panties you were wearing. 

Okay, yes, you had dressed in hopes that things would get this far. Who could blame you?

“I know,” you replied confidently, making Jason narrow his eyes at you. You _did_ know, to be fair. Black complimented your skin wonderfully, and you hadn’t encountered anyone during your many escapades that didn’t enjoy a bit of lace, girl or boy. 

“You know, I think I’m going to make it my goal to see just how quickly I can get you to stop being so talkative,” Jason told you, and you couldn’t help the way that his words made heat shoot to your hips. 

“Good luck with-- _oh_ , fuck.”

Your words were cut off by an involuntary moan as Jason snuck two fingers under the black lace and pressed them into you, making you arch your back at the pleasure that bubbled up within you. He worked his fingers in and out, curling them up to hit that spot that had you gasping as it sent fiery pulses of satisfaction through you. Everything was moving at a speedy pace, but you didn’t mind, not this time. You didn’t need the build-up; you just needed the distraction, the _release_. 

After a few moments of him using his fingers, you heard his zipper come undone, and suddenly, he pulled out of you. You stopped the whine that grew in the back of your throat, looking at Jason, who lifted his fingers up, showing them to you. 

“So wet, and I haven’t even fucked you,” he tutted. 

You were glad it was dark, because the blush that crept up your neck was so unlike you. “Just get on with it, won’t you?” You said, trying to regain some of that control you normally had in these situations. Normally, the boys you were with were so...boring, almost. 

Jason’s green eyes flashed with displeasure as you spoke. His hand wrapped around your throat, the other following closely to grasp your jaw roughly. Jason rolled his hips into you, the lack of fabric making you suck in a breath as you felt him against you, so close to the spot that your body was practically begging him to be. 

“Stop acting like a brat, and maybe I will,” Jason growled. His hands were _rough_ , but it only made that ache in your hips grow. 

You swallowed against his hand, your head feeling a bit light as he obstructed the flow of blood. Jason’s eyes narrowed at your lack of response, making you squirm slightly beneath him. You could feel how wet you were, you could feel him grinding against you so teasingly, and you just needed to stop thinking for two fucking seconds. 

“ _Fuck me_ ,” you breathed out, your words soft and gasping. Not _please_ , though. You would never _beg_. 

That seemed to be good enough for Jason, because he let go of your jaw and fumbled for his wand on the blanket next to you. Muttering softly, you could feel the indicative heat of the contraceptive charm he had cast in your abdomen before he yanked your panties to the side and slid in, nearly bottoming out on the first go. 

Merlin’s beard, he was quite sizable. Not the biggest you’d ever had, but large enough that you felt your hips shifting to accommodate him as he moved into you. The stretch hurt, but in that way that had your head swimming and _more_ on the tip of your tongue. 

A strangled whine erupted from you as he pulled out and thrusted in again, sinking in completely. A moan sounded from behind Jason’s gritted teeth as he began moving with a hard, quick rhythm that made you fist the blanket and squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Fuck,” Jason pants. “You’re tight. You-”

A bell, loud and clear, rung out, and almost instantly, all the pleasure coursing through your body is replaced with dread. 

“Fuck,” you swore. “Fuck. It’s-”

“Curfew,” Jason finished for you, pulling out quickly. “Shit. We have to go, like now.”

You wince as he does, but you’re focused on the fact that Umbridge had just ruined another fucking thing for you. You were going to wring that toad’s neck next time you saw her, you promised yourself. All you wanted was a damn distraction. 

The two of you tugged on your clothing hastily, and with a wave of your wand, the food and blankets and pillows disappeared as if they had never been there in the first place. Glancing around to make sure the way was clear, you set off down the winding stairs that took you out of the tower. Your heart was pounding loudly with fear; this time, you didn’t have stupid George and his stupid sweets to save you. 

Arousal still lingered, even as you rushed to get dressed and leave, making you even more frustrated. That fucking pink goblin and her damn _rules_. You were far too old to have such an early curfew, even if you had school the next morning. 

It took too long to get down the stairs, and by the time you did, you were almost certain there was no way you were getting to the dungeons without running into Filch or Umbridge. Then a brilliant idea crossed your mind. 

Grabbing Jason by the bicep, you made it seem as if you were escorting him as you left the stairwell and entered the main floor of the castle. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Jason hissed. 

“Just trust me,” you shot back, slowing your pace and trying to control your breath. “I’m on Umbridge’s stupid Inquisitorial Squad. I can be out after curfew if I caught someone else breaking it.”

Jason’s mouth dropped open in an ‘O’. “You-”

“No! Okay, no. I don’t like Umbridge. I didn’t really have a choice,” you hissed. You didn’t; your father had written to you just a few days before telling you how proud he was about your choice to join the Inquisitorial Squad. He may not have been a Purist like the Malfoys, but he still believed in most of the ideals that the Pureblood world propagated. 

You, however, were _not_ proud to be a part of her inane little student police squad. You’d never like anything if it was connected to Umbridge. 

“Just stop talking, okay? Unless you _want_ detention.”

Jason nodded, letting you lead him all the way to the bottom of the stairs that led to the Hufflepuff common room. “Thank you,” he whispered. “And, um, raincheck for earlier?”

You cracked a smile, even as anxiety was making your hands shake. “We’ll see,” you told him. “You have to go.”

Winking at you, Jason quickly strode up the steps, taking them two at a time. You turned on your heel, hoping that if you were caught, the Inquisitorial Squad excuse would actually work. 

Luck must’ve been on your side, because you made it to the dungeon with no problem. Once you entered, you sighed, sinking down on the plush black couch in front of the green fire. Merlin’s fucking beard, you were getting sick of Umbridge. 

\-------

The next morning, your mood had not improved, and it seemed that Umbridge was in a similar state, because she was even more bitchy and volatile than usual. She was handing out detentions like an old lady handed out candy on Halloween, and you were nearly the end of your sanity as the minutes ticked by. 

It seemed that every little thing was digging into you like a needle, pestering you and pricking you until you felt like you were going to implode. You had your eyes down on your desk, focusing on tracing the grain of the dark wood to try and calm yourself down. This meant, however, that Umbridge asked you a question and you hadn’t heard it, hadn’t even tuned back into her voice until Eva nudged you sharply. 

Your head snapped up to see Umbridge’s beady eyes glaring at you. “Um, sorry, what was the question?”

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed, her stubby arms crossing in front of her. “That is not how you address a superior. One must always use an honorific when speaking to one’s elder.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” you mumbled, but the raging heat that burned your face and the way you ground your teeth told a different story. 

“And I expect you to be paying attention at all times,” she continued. “Or you shall find yourself sitting in detention with me.”

“I zoned out. It wasn’t like it was on purpose,” you shot back.

Merlin’s fucking _beard_ , why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut? A gasp flew around the room; no one spoke to Umbridge that way to her face. Behind her back, yes, and usually it was much worse, but never directly to her. No one had the nerve, or the utter lack of brain cells to mouth off to her like you just had.

Umbridge’s face flushed a comical shade of red and she clenched a chubby, ring-laden hand. “ _Detention_. Today, at four.”

You felt your stomach sink with what could have been described only as dread, maybe even terror. There was no way this was going to be pleasant for you at all.

You and your damn mouth.

\-------

By the time the huge clocktower chimed four, you were considering drinking a lethal dose of the potion you’d made that day with Snape just to escape detention with Umbridge. Hermione had nearly yelled at you when she’d found out what you’d done, but Ron and Harry had given you subtle looks that said they were a bit impressed you’d talked back. 

It had felt good in the moment, but gods above, you were regretting it now as you stood in front of the closed door that separated you from what was bound to be a hellish hour. With a deep breath in, you pushed open the door to Umbridge’s classroom. She was standing at the front alone, clasping her hands in front of her as if she were waiting on you. You weren’t late; you’d made sure of that. 

Maybe that was why there were no other students in the room with her. Maybe you were...early.

“Have a seat,” was all she said with a snide smile masked as a pleasantry. “Here, at the front,” she instructed when you went to sit at the back of the classroom. 

Dropping your bag by the desk, you sat silently, not breaking eye contact. 

With a flick of her wand, a looping line of cursive appeared on the chalkboard behind her, reading _I must learn respect._

Lines? That was it? You nearly breathed a sigh of relief at that. Lines weren’t so bad. You could do that. Bending over, you went to search through your bag for parchment and a quill, but Umbridge’s pitchy _ah-hem_ interrupted you. 

You sat back up as she spoke. “You’ll be using my quill and parchment, if you don’t mind.”

Her smile told you that you wouldn’t mind, not if you had any will to live. Nodding, you sat back, waiting for her to set the supplies on your desk. The parchment she gave you was a deep aged yellow, and thicker than you were used to seeing, and the quill was a pitch black with a sharp point. 

No ink, though. 

Umbridge must’ve seen the question on your face, because she said, “Oh, you won’t need ink with that pen. It’s a rather special quill, but I’m sure you’ll find that out soon enough. Thirty lines ought to suffice, I think.”

Thirty? That was practically nothing. Umbridge turned, walking to her desk, her pink kitten heels clacking with every step in a way that had you gritting your jaw. She settled in, pulling a stack of essays over to her and gave you a look that encouraged you to begin. 

You began scratching out the first line, the dry nib of the quill rough against the parchment. Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted on the back of your hand, making you hiss with surprised pain. The ink was indeed appearing as you wrote, but it was red and thick like--

_Bloody hell_ . A myriad of curses ran through your mind as you glanced at the back of your hand, seeing that a faint _I must not_ was scratched into the skin, blood beginning to bead at some of the deeper gouges. 

The quill she had given you...it used your own fucking blood as ink. It was your _blood_ seeping into the thick parchment, running faintly as it filled the miniscule crevices of the paper. 

“Everything alright?” Umbridge asked calmly, peering at you over her pink reading glasses. You were really starting to despise the color pink. 

Pressing your lips together, you nodded curtly, not willing to give that damn toad an inch of satisfaction. It _hurt_ though, and every line you finished not only renewed, but heightened the burning pain searing the line into your skin. 

Over. And over. And over. And over. 

Again and again and again until you’d completed thirty lines, written in your own staining, bright crimson blood. The back of your hand had been steadily dripping blood since the fourth line. The skin was red, almost swollen, welling with fresh blood with every heartbeat.

You didn’t notice you were shaking until you released your vise-like grip on the foul black quill.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi my loves! mild content warning in this chapter for a bit of violence. its a bit of a sad chapter, but i promise the next one will be much happier!

As you picked up your quill to begin writing your essay, you fought to hide a grimace as pain pulsed through your hand and lanced up your arm. It had only been a few days since your detention with Umbridge, meaning your hand was still red and swollen. If you flexed it too hard, the flimsy scabbing beginning to grow over the wound would crack and break, letting bright drops of blood well up. 

After you’d finished your lines and went back to your dorm, you were gritting your teeth so hard your jaw ached. It _hurt_ , in a way that alarmed you. You’d suffered your fair share of injuries and small scrapes, but this was unlike anything you’d ever felt. The wounds burned, and every gust of cold air or brush of your robe sleeve had you holding back a yelp of pain. It had taken nearly two hours for your hand to stop leaking blood, meaning that you had missed dinner, which didn’t help with how horrid you felt. 

Each time your heart beat, your hand pulsed with renewed pain, making sleep almost impossible that night. You’d had to sleep with your hand carefully balanced on your chest, praying that you wouldn’t toss and turn in your sleep and disturb the swelling words etched into your skin. 

You hadn’t let any of your friends glimpse your hand so far, much to your surprise. It was harder to hide than you had thought. Hiding it wasn’t you trying to keep a secret from your friends; quite the opposite. You didn’t want to make them worry, and you knew that Ron would be especially angry if he found out. There was nothing to be done about the situation except let your hand heal and hope that there wouldn’t be a scar. 

The healing process had been odd, though. It was like something inside the cuts were fighting off your body as it tried to repair the damaged skin, leaving it tender and fragile. You had cast a couple of cooling charms over it to reduce the inflammation and dim the pain, but the simple spell could only do so much. 

Ron, Harry, and George were sitting in the Gryffindor common room with you, trying to piece together an essay for Care of Magical Creatures about some wretched animal Hagrid had shown them the day before. The thing had been slimy, but armed with a wicked sharp set of yellowing teeth, and if it was startled, stingers tipped with poison would explode from its tail. 

A nightmare of a thing, really, and Hagrid had been practically bursting with excitement when he’d shown it to your class. 

You were by the fire, angled so that the arm that you wrote with was closest to the crackling flames. Easier to hide your hand using your body than to pull your sleeve up over it. The heat didn’t feel wonderful against the throbbing skin, but it was better than the scratching, stinging sensation of cloth rubbing against it. 

Writing your essay had proved to be exceptionally difficult, because you had walked into the common room and seen George in his stupid gray sweatpants slung low on his hips and his slightly mussed hair and eyes that were still a bit puffy from sleep, because it was a Saturday, and of course he had just woken up a few minutes before you arrived. He'd even greeted you with a gruff "Mornin'", a word that, combined with his tired eyes and the strip of skin that appeared as he stretched his arms above his head, made an ache pulse in your hips. Focusing on anything when he looked like that was apparently impossible, making you frustrated in more ways than one. You weren't even sure why you were still noticing him like that in the first place; you hadn't really done anything more with him than kiss for a few minutes, but thoughts of George seemed impossible to get rid of. 

Stupid fucking git couldn't give you a damn break and let you study, could he? 

“Oh,” Ron began, setting his quill down and turning towards you. “I completely forgot to ask because classes have been kicking my ass lately. How’d detention with Professor Toadface go?” 

_Shit_.

You shrugged, continuing to write. “Fine, I guess. It was just lines, really. Scrubbing cauldrons with Snape was definitely worse.”

George snorted at that, likely remembering the lovely evening the two of you had shared in the dungeon after the first Quidditch match of the year. You did your best not to focus on him though. You didn’t need that added difficulty when the essay in front of you was already starting to make your head hurt. 

“Just lines?” Ron asked. “But I’ve heard her detentions are bloody terrible. D’you think she let you off easy because you’re a Slytherin?” 

Another shrug. “Maybe. Maybe she was just feeling nice that day,” you said. 

Sure, nice enough to practically torture you. 

Harry wrinkled his nose, making his glasses shift. “Umbridge? Nice? No way.”

“Like I said, it was just lines. I don’t know why she didn’t make it worse. I’m not complaining, though.” 

Or you wouldn’t be if holding a quill wasn’t so painful you had to chew the inside of your lip just to distract you from the pain. 

“‘Course she went easy on Scales,” George interjected. “She’s a Slytherin and all of those gits are her little lap dogs.”

Instinctively, your hand clenched around your quill at George’s snide comment. This time, you couldn’t keep in the curse that slipped through your lips at the sharp, hot pain that pulsed across the back of your hand. At the noise, all three boys’ eyes snapped to you, making your stomach sink as your hand let go of the quill. 

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked, worry threading through his voice. 

“Nothin-”

“Give me your hand,” Harry interrupted, holding out his own expectantly. 

Sighing, you stood up, walking to the couch opposite yours where Harry and Ron sat. George leaned over from his arm chair, peering curiously as you stretched out your arm. 

At the sight of the swollen, pink wound and the small drop of blood oozing from one of the deeper cuts, the three of them swore in unison. You went to snatch your hand away, but Ron darted out and caught it, keeping it displayed in front of them. 

“Shit,” George breathed. The look that flashed over his face was too quick for you to put a name to, but it made something in your chest jump as he took in your injury.

Ron’s mouth was agape as he took in your injury. “Bloody hell, mate. Just lines, huh?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your face flushing at the attention. “I mean, technically, it was just lines,” you said, trying to get Ron to crack a smile.

Ron glared at you. “Not funny.”

“I didn’t want you guys to worry or get angry. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Harry asked incredulously. “Christ, I think I’m scared to see what you _do_ consider a big deal.” Scanning over the back of your hand, Harry’s forehead wrinkled. “It looks like it might be infected, too.”

“How did she even do this?” Ron questioned. “I mean, there’s no fucking way this is legal. Anything that can do this has got to be a forbidden object.”

Sitting on the coffee table that stood in the middle of the couches and armchairs, you said, “She’s got this quill that...well, basically, it uses your blood as the ink. Once you start writing, it starts cutting your hand. Umbridge made me do thirty lines. _I must learn respect,_ ” you told them, reading the words that were gruesomely carved into your skin.

You could see George mumbling the words etched into the back of your hand under your breath. Harry and Ron did the same, their faces pinched in sympathy as they understood the gravity of the pain you’d endured. 

“I bet Hermoine would know if it was legal,” Ron mumbled, still tracing the scabbing letters on the back of your hand.

The look of pity in the three boys’ eyes made you want to shrink under their scrutiny. You understood why they were upset, but you weren’t going to let yourself be as well. It was easier to deal with the situation, easier to get over it, if you simply didn’t acknowledge the way it had affected you. 

Because it wasn’t just the pain; no, nightmares had been creeping up on you without warning every couple of nights. Always with Umbridge, always with that horrific quill, but the words changed almost every time. Sometimes, you had to write lines about not disappointing your father. Other times, it was about your friends or family dying. 

Overall, not really a pleasant thing to experience. You always woke up shaking, drenching in sweat, and panicking, checking your other hand to make sure it really _had_ been just a dream. 

Sure enough, you could see the anger rising in Harry and Ron at almost the same time, and oddly enough, George’s jaw was set like he was biting back a string of curses. Before they could explode, you gently pulled your hand away, resting in on your lap. 

“Please don’t get mad. I’m really okay.” You weren’t because it hurt like hell to even think about moving that hand, but you didn’t see the point in being coddled. 

Ron shook his head. “But you aren’t! You’re clearly in pain. Why haven’t you at least gone to Madam Pomfrey to see if she could do anything?”

You didn’t want to admit it, but it was because you were terrified that Umbridge would find out, and you’d land yourself right back in another detention. As much as you put up a strong front, the thought of that scared you enough that you would rather just put up with the aching and stinging of the sizable cuts. 

“Because it’s not worth making a fuss,” you responded, trying your best to seem like you were unbothered by the whole thing. 

Harry and Ron looked as though they were about to protest, but George cut them off. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” George mumbled, making the three of you turn to him, surprise etched on your face. 

“Excuse me?” You asked.

“I said,” George repeated, looking at you, the fire dancing in his amber eyes. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You replied. “What the hell did I do? You can’t seriously tell me you think this is my fault?”

Ron echoed your questions. “Georgie, what the bloody hell are you on about? She didn’t do-”

“Yes, she did,” he snapped, glaring at you. “She was obviously stupid enough to do something to land herself in detention with Umbridge, knowing full well how awful that vile bitch is.”

“You know what? Go fuck yourself,” you swore at him. “You can be a bastard all you fucking want, but there is no way I’m letting you give me shit for this.”

George narrowed his eyes, anger filling his features. “Fine. Not my fucking fault you can’t watch your damn mouth.”

Gathering up his parchment and books, he shoved them haphazardly in his bag. “I’m going to go finish my essay somewhere else,” he growled, stalking out of the common room, letting the Fat Lady’s portrait bang shut behind him, earning a yelp and an admonition from the disgruntled woman. 

“Un-fucking-believabe,” you muttered, shaking your head. 

\-------

A few weeks later, your hand was still sore, but most of the cuts had healed almost entirely; only the deepest parts were still aggravating you. You had probably been right about there being some sort of magic at work to stop it from healing normally, because you’d never had a cut stay open this long. 

It didn’t bother you much anymore, thankfully. The worst part was that you knew that it was going to scar, meaning you’d forever have a reminder on your body about the horrific period of time you’d had to put up with Umbridge. 

Really, all Umbridge had accomplished from giving you that detention was making you detest her even more than you had previously. You’d felt something was off about her before, but now, you knew she was evil, that she was a vindictive wretch who had the Minister under her thumb. At least, you _hoped_ that the Minister would put a stop to her methods of punishment if he ever learned about them instead of being the one who had created them in the first place. 

It seemed with every day, Umbridge instated new rules that controlled almost every single aspect of life at Hogwarts. Her decrees were all hanging along the wall adjacent to the entrance of the Great Hall, their wooden frames creaking mockingly at you every time you walked past them. The myriad of rules was beginning to feel suffocating, and you found yourself constantly worried that you were doing something that somehow broke one of them. 

Umbridge seemed to almost derive pleasure from controlling the students and professors so wholly. The power-hungry glint that shone in her eye after each decree was announced and posted had you wanting to stay as far away from her as humanly possible. 

All her rules only made the need for Dumbledore’s Army grow stronger, only made the secret group of students grow more and more restless every time she tried to clamp down on any ongoings that upset her. And after your detention, after feeling the constant jabs of pain every moment of the day, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to look at Umbridge with anything but clear and utter hatred. 

Your father had written to you earlier that morning, telling you that he and your mother would be away on Ministry business over the holidays, so you’d either have to spend the break at Hogwarts or at a friend’s. At the end of the letter, he had expressed his disappointment about your detention, though you weren’t sure how he had found out. He admonished you, telling you that you should know better than to disrespect such a high-ranking Ministry official. 

You couldn’t help but feel that that was part of the reason they weren’t allowing you to spend the holidays with them, even if they said it was because of work. 

Before you even had the chance to ask, Ron had told you you were staying at the Burrow for the break, and that Molly wasn’t going to take no for an answer. You wouldn’t have refused anyways; the Burrow was your favorite place to spend Christmas. 

Even with George being there. 

Your last class of the term had dragged on so long you considered hexing yourself just so that you could escape the classroom and Professor Binns’ terrible, droning voice. Just as you thought you couldn’t last another second listening to him talk about Wendelin the Weird, you heard the rush of footsteps and the faint chiming of the clocktower, indicating that it was finally four o’clock. The man had been burnt no less than forty-seven separate times at the stake during the Medieval Ages, and somehow, Binns managed to make even _him_ sound mind-numbingly boring. 

Hastily packing your things, you exited the stuffy classroom as Binns floated through the chalkboard in his usual way of leaving at the end of the period. Merlin’s beard, what had Dumbledore been thinking, hiring a ghost as a teacher? You wouldn’t be surprised if Professor Binns’ class caused the first death by boredom. 

It didn’t matter now though, because you were finally done for the term, meaning you could forget about essays and tests and late-night Astrology studies and impossibly dull Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. 

You were leaving tomorrow and spending Christmas at the Burrow with most of your dearest friends. That’s all you cared about as you changed out of your stifling robes and button-up shirt and ate dinner with your friends, the air filled with excitement as students began to let go of months of stressful studying. Hagrid had dragged a few massive Christmas trees to the Great Hall a week or two before, and they now lined the long room, making the space feel warm and festive. 

The dinner before winter break was always a knock-out; there was turkey, and stuffing, and mashed potatoes, and all sorts of vegetables (which Ron and Harry quickly skipped over) and your absolute favorite- cherry pie. 

It felt good to forget about the pain in your hand, to let go of the weight of the DA, and just act like a normal student again. 

The normalcy, unfortunately, vanished that night as you were sleeping. It was another nightmare, but this time, it wasn’t about your detention and carving words into your own body. 

_Arthur Weasley was walking along a dimly lit corridor, only the sound of his work shoes clicking softly meeting your ears as he walked. The floor and walls were made of black obsidian that glinted strangely in the greenish hue of the torches lining the walls. You didn’t seem to be truly there, because when you looked down at your hands, they were cloudy, as if you were looking at them through a foggy window._

_At the end of the corridor was a large black door with a golden handle that seemed to beckon to you, prompting you to follow Arthur as he walked. As you neared the mysterious door, a quiet hissing echoed through the hallway, making the two of you snap your heads back to the space behind you. Arthur’s eyes went wide as a snake, thicker than your torso and longer than a broom, slithered quickly towards him. He barely had time to throw his hands up, didn’t even get to_ scream _as the snake towered over him and struck faster than lightning. Arthur let out an ear-splitting yell as the snake’s fangs sunk into his arm, then his shoulder in rapid succession. Ruby-red blood sprayed from the holes the snake’s fangs left, painting the hallway in a gory shower of crimson._

_The force of the attack caused him to stumble and fall back, the impact making him groan as blood began to stream out of him at an alarming rate. Still, the snake did not stop; its movements only grew quicker as Arthur continued to scream in pain, as his blood continued to flow over the obsidian floors. The liquid shone sickeningly as it reached where you would’ve been standing, as it covered so much of the floor. Too much of the floor._

_An odd, horrific sense of satisfaction filled you as the snake struck, as if your disembodied spirit was cheering it on. At one point, it turned to you in between lunges, its reptilian eyes staring at you as it swayed back and forth, like it was trying to tell you something, like it recognized you. Over and over, the massive snake attacked Arthur, until his voice was barely more than a whisper as he cried out, until all he could do was curl into a ball, lacking the energy to even lift a hand to defend himself._

_With a final strike, the snake pulled back with a hiss and--_

A loud pounding at your door shocked you into consciousness, and it took you a moment to realize you were back in your dorm room and not in that hallway, watching your best friend’s father bleed out. Your heart was racing so fast it hurt, and your legs felt unsteady and shaky as you swung them over the side of your bed. 

The knocking continued, and as you wrapped your robe around yourself, you muttered softly to yourself, saying it was just a bad dream. You opened the door, eyes still heavy with sleep and your head still pounding from your nightmare. 

Standing in front of you was Professor Snape, in his long, black robes. Your other House members were starting to pop out of their rooms, also disturbed by Snape’s knocking. Briar was standing with Eva and Dorian and Bram were just ambling out of their dorm rooms. Briar sent you a worried look, making your stomach sink. 

“Sir?” You said, your voice heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?”

Snape looked grave as he spoke, but then again, he always looked a bit too serious. “I’m afraid something has happened to Mr. Weasley. The Headmaster is waiting for you in his office, along with the Weasleys, Mr. Potter, and Ms. Granger.”

You felt the blood drain out of your face. It _had_ to be a coincidence, right? There was no way that what you had just seen was--was _real_. “Is he-” 

You couldn’t force yourself to finish the sentence. 

Snape merely pursed his thin lips. “I’m afraid I do not know at the moment. Your things will be sent to the Burrow tomorrow. The Headmaster is waiting for us.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling tears well up in the back of your throat. It had to be serious, if they were waking you in the middle of the night. Trying to shove down your panic, you nodded, following Professor Snape as he turned and led you out of the dungeon. 

Still in your pajamas, robe, and slippers, you walked with Snape to Dumbledore’s office. Snape muttered the password under his breath, and the spiraling staircase leading to the office moved downward and opened, allowing the two of you to enter. 

The pale faces of your friends told you that what you feared was true. Ron looked up as you entered, his eyes brimming with tears as he stood and wrapped you in a tight hug. Throwing your arms around him, you held him for a few moments, feeling his shoulders shake as he tried to hold back his tears, likely for Ginny’s sake, who looked so frightened and so unlike the strong, brash girl you knew. Fred and George were standing shoulder to shoulder, both with bags under their eyes. George’s eyes met yours as you walked in, and instead of darting away like usual, he looked you up and down, as if searching for something. 

His brown eyes, normally so bright and filled with mischievous laughter, were dull and heavy-lidded, as if he were so tired he could barely keep himself awake. 

“Now that we have you all here, there are a few things I need to tell you,” Dumbledore stated, scanning your faces as you all anxiously awaited his news. “Mr. Weasley was attacked at the Ministry of Magic tonight during an assignment regarding a portion of the Department of Mysteries. I cannot tell you what he was doing, but I can tell you that if it weren’t for Harry and his unusual connection to Voldemort, we would still be sleeping soundly in our beds.”

Everyone turned to Harry, whose face was drained of blood and looking like he might pass out at any moment. Professor McGonagall had a hand on his shoulder, her lips pulled into a worried line. 

“I-I didn’t know it was real,” Harry stuttered, his hands shaking as he adjusted his glasses. “I-I thought it was just a bad dream, but it was so-so- there was blood everywhere-”

Harry bent over, retching violently as he emptied the contents of his stomach out onto Dumbledore’s office floor. Ginny’s face wrinkled and your heart dropped. You knew what he had seen, and vomiting frankly seemed like an understandable reaction. Every time Arthur’s bloodied scream echoed in your mind, you felt like doing the same. McGongall patted his back as she waved her hand, clearing the mess from the stone. 

“Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Potter?” She asked softly, calling a chair over with another wave of her hand. Harry nodded, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his pajama top. 

Dumbledore, standing in front of his desk, clasped his hands behind his back. “Unfortunately, Harry’s dream was very much real, but without him, we might not have found Mr. Weasley on time.”

Fred and George looked shell-shocked, like they could barely believe what they were hearing, and Ginny, with shaking hands, was sitting with Hermione’s arm wrapped around her. Ron, standing next to you, was still on the verge of tears. 

“Professor,” you started, feeling oily dread curling in your gut. “I-I had a dream, too, and-”

At the mention of your nightmare, your stomach churned, causing you to drop to your knees as you fought the bile rising in your throat. Pushing back the images that were trying to invade your mind, you wrapped your arms around yourself, doing your best to forget the way Mr. Weasley’s blood had run over the tile and the way his screams rattled your very bones. You heard gasps as you collapsed, and Ron said to George with a pained voice, “Help me get her up, please.”

One on each side, they grasped your arms, hauling you to your feet. You didn’t know who was on which side, but when your vision flashed black and red again, you leaned against the boy to your left. Either George or Ron let go, while the other that you were leaning against guided you to a chair next to Harry, their hands gentle on your arms, but strong enough to help steady you. 

After a few moments, you felt calm enough to open your eyes, seeing that George was still standing next to you with his forehead crinkled in concern. It seemed none of his anger at you from earning detention remained, which relieved you more than you’d admit. Looking up at Dumbledore, you mumbled a faint apology, feeling a bit foolish for such an extreme reaction.

Dumbledore’s bushy brows raised a fraction of an inch, but that was all the surprise he showed. You didn’t focus on your friends’ reactions, on the way that they were surely sharing shocked expressions behind you. “I’m assuming you saw the same as Harry, but we needn’t get into the details at the moment,” Dumbledore said, and you nodded in confirmation. “The two of you might find it helpful to sit down and talk about your dreams, when you both are more rested.”

You weren’t even sure if you could recount the dream without vomiting, just like Harry. “I-I don’t know why. I’m not-”

“While I am rather curious as to why you and Harry seemed to share this particular vision, I think that it would be best to discuss it at a later date. It is far too late tonight to delve into such complex matters,” Dumbledore decided. 

“Sir,” Ron said, his voice cracking as he tried to hold back the tears welling in his eyes. “Is Dad-I mean, did they-”

Dumbledore nodded. “Arthur is currently receiving emergency treatment at St. Mungos as we speak. He won’t be entirely alright for quite some time yet, and I assume he will need much rest and medical care, but he is alive.”

A collective sigh of relief rippled around the room as Dumbledore delivered his answer. George let out a sharp breath next to you. He still hadn’t moved away, and his hand was still poised at his side like he was ready to catch you if you decided to collapse again. 

Later, you thought. You would deal with how you felt about that later, after you saw for yourself that Arthur was okay. 

“We decided it was best to send you lot home tonight,” Professor McGonagall informed you. “We’ll send your things tomorrow, but we assumed you’d want to be at home with family as soon as possible.”

George nodded minutely in response. “Please,” he said quietly, in a voice that twisted your heart painfully in your chest. 

“I’ve already arranged a Portkey for your travel home,” Dumbledore said, gesturing to the rusted tin can sitting on his desk. “If you’ll all gather close, we can get you home in no time.”

You did as directed, crowding towards Dumbledore’s mahogany desk. “And you lot,” McGonagall spoke up, making you all turn your heads towards her. “Look after eachother. Please.”

Harry and Hermione nodded, but Professor McGonagall’s face stayed twisted with worry and stress. With that, Dumbledore instructed you all to touch the Portkey on the count of three. A deep pull tugged behind your navel as your finger connected with the can and your feet lifted from the ground. 

For a few moments, everything was a dark, spinning blur, until your feet hit solid ground, making you stumble a few steps as you recovered. Your stomach roiled as gravity hit you again, making you bend over and take a few deep breaths of the freezing night air. The night was calm, peaceful, so at odds with the devastating, horrific news you had just received. 

Once everyone had landed, you all shared a solemn, nervous look before Hermoine said, “Come on, let’s get out of the cold.”

You could see Mrs. Weasley standing in the kitchen, pacing in the dim lighting. Your heart wrenched at the sight of the poor woman, who was most likely incredibly distraught and scared, just like her children. 

Just like you were. 

Mr. Weasley had been like a second father to you since you’d become friends with Ron, and the fact that they had found him before it was too late was only a small comfort when you recalled your dream and the gaunt, worried faces of your professors and Headmaster. They might have found him in time, but you knew what state he had been in, and even though you’d had to see him so viciously attacked, you didn’t want your friends to see him like that.

As soon as Fred pushed open the door, Molly rushed to you, sweeping you all up in a massive jumble of a group hug, her chest shaking as she let her tears loose. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovely readers! sorry for the slight delay in uploading, life has a way of getting in the way of things yknow? i also start school again next week, so delays might be a bit common unfortunately :( hope you all had a wonderful new year!

After a few moments more of holding one another, you all went to bring your things to your rooms, which had been delivered mere seconds after you arrived. Mrs. Weasley seemed permanently fixed to the space in front of the clock that told the Weasley family’s whereabouts, her eyes constantly darting to Arthur’s name that was pointed to  _ Hospital _ . 

Your heart twisted in pain as you noted the worry etched into her face and the way her hands were red from wringing them together as she anxiously awaited the next bit of news. She hadn’t gone to St. Mungo’s yet, because she had wanted to make sure you all arrived safe. And because the Auror that delivered the news of Arthur’s attack had told her there was really nothing to do but wait, so she might as well wait at home with family. 

Molly clearly was not okay with that, but she had stayed nonetheless. She had stayed for all of you, but you also knew that she probably needed you there as much as you all needed her. 

Harry was sharing Ron’s room, and you and Hermione went to Ginny’s in the usual sleeping arrangement. You didn’t bother to unpack, only digging through your suitcase enough to locate pajamas and toiletries. It was late, and most everyone had fallen asleep quickly, to your relief. There was no way in hell you’d even risk closing your eyes, not after the horrors that had appeared only a few hours prior. 

It seemed, as you tiptoed down the creaky wooden stairs, that Harry was feeling the same. He was planted on the couch in front of the embers that remained in the fireplace, a steaming mug in hand. The hollow, jumpy look in his eyes was probably echoed in yours, too, you wagered yourself. Harry turned his head at the sound of your footsteps, his shoulders sagging when he saw who it was. 

“Oh,” he said as you joined him on the couch. “It’s you.” 

In a poor attempt for a joke, you replied, “Ouch, Potter. Expecting someone else?”

Harry shook his head, looking down into his mug of hot chocolate. “No. I’m actually relieved it’s you and not anyone else. Maybe…” He sighed. “Maybe we’ll be able to sleep if we talk about it. Hot chocolate?” 

Before you could answer, he dipped into his pocket and pulled out a silver flask, a dark  _ J _ etched into the side. “The Firewhiskey helps with the visions when they get bad,” he explained softly. 

“Please,” you said, and Harry retrieved a mug and poured steaming hot chocolate into the cup. Sitting back down, with a heavy hand he poured Firewhiskey into your mug. Taking a small sip, you felt warmth flow through you. The taste was actually rather enjoyable; a bit like the Mexican hot chocolate you’d had the time you’d gone to London with your father. 

Harry mirrored your sip as you said, “So you have these often?”

“They’re worse now,” Harry told you. “Since I saw Voldemort. I don’t think I’ve gone three days without one since June. It’s always him, and it always makes me feel like I’ll never be able to sleep again.”

Bloody hell. No wonder he always looked a bit disheveled. “God, mate, I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t be. I am the Chosen One, after all. Guess it just comes with the job.” There was a hint of resentment in his voice, a glimmer of bitterness that hooked your attention, tugging at your chest. 

“Well, at least you’re not alone with this one,” you said. “Not the only attention whore this time.” 

You nudged him gently with your elbow, making his lip curl up in a fraction of a smile. “I’d rather be the only one, if only because I never want any of you to deal with this.”

His confession made your throat itch with the start of tears, and you took a sip of your spiked drink to clear it away. “It...it certainly wasn’t fun, I’ll admit that,” you half-whispered, causing Harry to place a soft hand on your shoulder. “I...I can’t help but feel like it’s partially my fault, I guess? As odd as that sounds.”

“Me, too,” Harry confirmed. “I think that somehow, I  _ was  _ the snake. Nagini, that’s what Dumbledore said its name was. Or, I was in the snake for a bit? I’m not sure. But when it--when  _ I _ was attacking Mr. Weasley, I felt...fuck,” he swore, his voice cracking. “I felt... _ good _ . I was-I was biting Mr. Weasley, making him--and I was  _ enjoying _ \--”

“I did, too,” you said quietly. “Like...like I was  _ proud _ , like I was cheering the snake on.”

Harry took a large gulp of his drink. “How-how did yours go?” Harry asked tentatively. 

And so you told him; you told him about the door, about the screaming, about the blood and the moment where the snake had looked at you like it knew you. If Harry… if he had somehow  _ been _ the snake, then that might explain the look, but you still didn’t know why you had the damn dream in the first place. 

It _ hurt _ , talking about the dream, but it felt good to get it out, to tell someone about it without them judging you or getting angry. Recalling Arthur’s screams, the way his blood had sprayed, made your stomach twist into disgusted knots, but it also made your mind feel less overwhelmed. 

“Well, this certainly was a hell of a first real dream to have, I’ll give you that,” Harry said once you finished. “I’m sorry, though. That you had to see that.”

The words made your nose burn as tears pricked your eyes. “I’m sorry, too. That you...that you have to see any of it. All of it,” you told Harry softly.

Harry rested his head on your shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered. “No one...everyone gets so excited or scared or  _ whatever _ when it happens that no one seems to think to check if I’m okay.”

Leaning your head against Harry’s, you nodded minutely. “You’re strong, you know that?”

Harry snorted, his drink sloshing as he lifted it to his lips. “You’re the first person I’ve let see the way I cope, and you think I’m strong? That’s funny.”

“Firewhiskey or no, you  _ are _ ,” you insisted. “No one...no one could go through what you have and turn out the way you have. I wish you didn’t have to do any of it, though. I wish…” you trailed off, scared to finish your thought. 

“You wish what?”

“That... _ fuck _ , that we didn’t have to do any of this. Why do  _ you _ , why do  _ we _ have to be responsible for all of this? We didn’t ask for this. We’re fucking kids,” you finished, the Firewhiskey beginning to catch up with you. “We’re fucking  _ kids _ , Harry,” you said, your voice splitting as a tear spilled out, trailing down your cheek onto Harry’s dark curls. 

“I know,” Harry responded quietly. “I’ve been asking myself that question since I was eleven.”

Silence fell as you both finished your drinks, falling asleep on the couch in front of the dying fire with your heads resting together. 

Neither of you dreamt that night.

\-------

A hand gently shaking your shoulder woke you from your dreamless sleep, making you open your eyes slowly as you saw Ron standing in front of you. 

“Morning,” he greeted tiredly. “You guys couldn’t sleep?”

You shook your head. “No, not after…”

Ron’s face pinched with sorrow as he understood. “Are you okay? I mean, I know it’s a stupid question, but-”

“I will be,” you told him. “It just...gods, Ron, it was-”

Ron sat down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you into a crushing hug. “I can’t even imagine,” he said. “But everyone is okay, and we’re all here together, and that’s what matters, y’know?”

You nodded against his chest, letting a soft breath out. 

You let Ron hold you for a moment, something you never really let anyone do. Harry woke up soon after you, rubbing his neck to ease the ache caused by sleeping at such a strange angle. You hoped that your breath didn’t give away the alcohol you’d had the night before, but Harry had been right--your sleep had been uneventful. 

Molly, of course, had already been up for a few hours, but the rest of you had slept in to make up for being woken at such a late hour the night before. When Ginny and Hermione had come down stairs, they’d chided you for falling asleep on the couch. 

“You needed a good night’s sleep,” Hermione said. 

“Plus, now, it looks like the two of you, y’know,” Ginny chimed in, wiggling her eyebrows. 

Fred followed soon after, snorting at Ginny’s comment. “Can you imagine? Not only would she have kissed her best friend’s brother, but also her best friend’s best friend,” Fred joked, making the room light up with much needed laughter. 

You didn’t even really mind that it was at your expense; you were just glad the shadows hovering over your friends’ eyes last night were beginning to burn away. 

“Nah, she’s a better friend than that,” Ron defended. “Well, besides the fact that you  _ did _ kiss my brother.”

Mrs. Weasley peaked her head in from the kitchen, flour dusting her colorful apron. “What’s this about kissing brothers?”

Fred’s eyes lit up as he bounded down the stairs. “Bloody hell, Mum, I forgot you didn’t know!”

“Language, Frederick,” Molly warned, but there was little venom behind the chastisement. 

“Sorry, sorry, but get this. Scales and Georgie  _ kissed _ ! On Halloween,” Fred informed Molly, causing her to raise her eyebrows. 

She looked over to you, where you felt rather inclined to sink into the couch to escape her gaze. The blush on your cheeks was probably near luminescent, but Mrs. Weasley merely looked at you for a moment before saying, “I hope he behaved.”

Another loud chorus of laughter erupted, making Mrs. Weasley shake her head, but you noticed the ghost of a smile dusting her lips. “I am glad you decided to join us this year, my dear. Especially...well, I’m just glad to have you all here so I know you’re safe.”

A loud bang came from where Fred and Ginny had wandered off, making you jump. “As safe as we can be with those two and George here, anyways,” Mrs. Weasley sighed, but you knew she loved having the noise and the messes as long as it meant you were all at the Burrow with her and Arthur. 

“I’m happy I’m here, too, Mrs. Weasley,” you told her, because you were. “Nothing quite compares to Christmas at the Burrow, and I’d come just for your cooking even if Ron weren’t my best friend.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled kindly at you. “My dear, how many times must I ask you to call me Molly? You’re family, and I do enjoy having another girl around here, because Merlin knows these boys won’t cook to save their lives, and Ginny and Hermione’s talents certainly lie elsewhere.”

You let out a gentle laugh. “Believe me, I know. And...Arthur, he’s-”

“He’s going to be okay,” Molly said, her voice thickening as tears welled in her eyes. “Thanks to you and Harry, dear. Everything will be okay.”

Nodding, you did your best to hold back your own emotion. “It will be.”

The day was one full of food and decorating for the upcoming holiday and light attempts at joking, all while constantly watching the clock to see if Arthur’s hand moved from  _ Hospital _ . It was quite difficult to focus on anything but that, even with Molly keeping you all so busy you barely had a moment to sit. You were thankful for that, though. It meant you didn’t have time to stew over the terrible vision you’d seen. 

Besides you and Harry, no one truly knew what Arthur had gone through yet, not even Mrs. Weasley, and you hoped it would stay that way. 

George hadn’t left his and Fred’s room since he went in the night before, which caused a twinge of worry to prick you every time you saw the latter without the former throughout the day. No one brought it up, but you caught everyone glancing up the stairs every so often, as if waiting for him to join you. 

You understood it, though. George...he had never been one to let others see him while he was going through something difficult, and apparently this was no exception. As hard as moments were, being with everyone was lifting your spirits, so you were worried that George was doing himself more harm than good by hiding away. 

By the time the sun was dipping low in the sky, you’d pulled so many gnomes from the garden and cleaned out the garden shed so thoroughly you felt like you were always going to have a layer of grime coating you. Your hands stung, your back ached, but you weren’t thinking about your vision. You hadn’t even thought of it as Molly and you prepared dinner, chatting lightly and pretending each didn’t notice the either anxiously glancing towards the clock every moment they could. 

Around supper, Molly got a message from Dumbledore, saying that Arthur was awake, but that he could only see her that night due to his extensive injuries. Though she put up a fuss and tried to say she wanted to stay with you, you could tell that she was practically jumping out of her skin in anticipation, so the lot of you forced her to go, assuring her you’d be fine alone overnight. 

And fine you would be, because Ginny produced a massive bottle of Firewhiskey from under her bed with the threat that if anyone told Mr. or Mrs. Weasley about it, she’d curse them with one of her infamously vicious Bat Bogey Hexes. 

You all agreed, not wanting to be on the receiving end of that. Besides, you all needed something to help you relax, and Fred only made things more fun by somehow finding a bottle of Veritaserum. You’d heard of this particular party game; a person is given two drinks to choose from, one with Firewhiskey and one with Veritaserum, then asked truth or dare. 

As Mrs. Weasley left, the sun was just beginning to set, lighting the kitchen with golds and crimsons as you all said goodbye and watched her Apparate to St. Mungo’s. 

With a  _ snap _ , she was gone, and Ginny turned to you, an excited grin on her face. “Shall we?” 

\-------

As everyone sat in the living room in front of the crackling fire, a messily decorated Christmas tree in the corner of the room, you went to get supplies for the game. Grabbing two mugs from a shelf in the kitchen, you turned around and saw George trudging down the staircase, his hair a bit messy and dark bags under his eyes. 

You hated the way your nerves jumped at the sight of his bedhead. Sweet Salazar, you  _ hated _ it. What you didn’t hate, however was the way George sighed quietly as he stepped off the stairs, seemingly still tired even after being in his room all day. 

“And he emerges,” you said softly, but George heard you, his eyes snapping up to yours as he walked towards you. 

“Piss off,” he said, but his voice was tired in a way that made you think he might’ve not gotten much sleep at all since you’d arrived at the Burrow. “Where is everyone?”

“The living room. We’re playing truth or dare with Firewhiskey and Veritaserum,” you told him, holding up the mugs.

George shook his head. “What are we, children?”

“Why, yes, George, that is exactly what we are,” you replied. “If you’re going to play, though, you have to eat something first.”

George narrowed his eyes at you. “Last I checked, you weren’t my mum.”

You sighed, shrugging as you started to return to the living room. “You’re going to vomit if you have Firewhiskey with nothing in your stomach, but that’s up to you, I guess.”

_ Stupid.  _ Why would he listen to you? Why do you care if he feels well? Stupid.

Setting the mugs on the coffee table, you sat next to Ron and Ginny as liquid was poured into each of them. Fred flicked his wand, making lids appear over the mugs. With another flick, the mugs turned identical, and with a final flick, shot glasses appeared in front of everybody. 

“Can’t believe you get to do magic outside of Hogwarts,” Ron grumbled. “We’re only a year younger than you, and just barely at that.”

“Oh, be patient, Ronald. You’ll grow up soon enough,” Fred consoled him, making you snort. “Ah, Georgie, nice to see you, mate.”

George settled onto the couch next to Harry, an apple in hand. “Mornin’,” he said simply. 

“Not quite, but that’s okay,” Fred replied. “You playing?”

“Why not.”

His answer sent excited chills down your spine, but you ignored them. Or tried too, anyways, as Ginny focused on her newly arrived brother. “Right, then, let’s start with you. George, pick a cup.”

“Uh, the right one,” George said, pointing to the mug. 

As Ginny poured, she informed the group that a charm had also been placed over the liquids so they looked and tasted like water to add an extra element of mystery to the whole ordeal. George picked up his glass, tipping it back into his mouth in one smooth motion, then set the shot glass back down with a soft clink. 

“Now the fun part!” Ginny exclaimed. “Georgie, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Were you lying when you told Fred kissing Scales was terrible?”

You couldn’t stop the groan that left your mouth, but it didn’t matter, because it was drowned by the laughter that the rest of the group let out. “Shit, Ginny, getting right into it, are we?”

Ginny grinned at you. “Is there any other way?”

Everyone turned to look at George, who answered begrudgingly, “Yes.” He avoided your gaze as you felt your face warm.

“Yes?” Ginny repeated. 

George huffed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I was lying, Gin. Merlin’s beard, maybe listen for an answer if you ask a question.”

A shocked thrill went through you as you heard George’s answer. He had...he had really liked kissing you? 

Not that you cared, of course. 

“Alright, George’s turn to ask!” Harry said. 

“Erm, alright….”

And so the game went, everyone getting drunker and more honest with every shot. You had been asked a rather embarrassing question about one of the boys you’d shagged the previous year, but luckily you’d chosen Firewhiskey (or as lucky as one could be when drinking that liquid fire). You’d also been dared to tell your worst sex dream, and to either kiss Ron or take off your shirt. 

You chose the shirt, and it looked like Ron had been greatly relieved; he was practically your  _ brother _ . There was no way in hell you’d kiss him. As the Firewhiskey settled into you, the uncomfortableness that came along with being just in your bra and pants faded as you lost yourself in the joy of the game.

Unfortunately, the theme of the night seemed to be anything and everything promiscuous, and by the time your second turn came around, you’d already been kissed by Fred (weird, and much different than George, who had suddenly left the room claiming he was thirsty) and witnessed Ron nearly die of mortification as Ginny recounted her one night stand with a fifth-year Hufflepuff girl. 

You were definitely feeling the Firewhiskey, so you perhaps weren’t thinking entirely straight when you said, “Right, ‘Mione, I dare you to kiss Ron.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide as she looked back and forth between you and Ron, but you were a bit too drunk to realize that perhaps she’d wanted her first kiss with him to be...well,  _ organic _ , and not forced during a drunken dare. She couldn’t back out, though, because she’d already used her one chicken when Harry had dared her to jump naked into the quickly growing drifts of snow outside. 

Ron’s cheeks, already tinged pink with intoxication, flushed even deeper as Hermione turned to face him. “Well, Ronald?”

Everyone let out whistles and jeers as Hermione surged forward, pressing her mouth to Ron’s quickly, then tried to pull away, but Ron caught her, tugging her in again. Her hands flew up to cup his face, Ron’s eyes fluttering shut as she did. After a few moments, they finally broke apart, both of their faces burning red as the rest of the group looked at them with surprised faces. 

“Well, you two,” Harry said. “It’s about damn time.”

Hermione glared at him, but now it was her turn, and…

_ Shit _ . You hadn’t thought this one through, had you? But Hermione didn’t focus her question on you; no. She turned to George, who was lounging on the couch, his long legs resting on the coffee table. His crewneck sweater had ridden up as he intertwined his fingers behind his head, exposing that stupid strip of skin that did terrible,  _ wonderful _ things to you. Especially when you were drunk.

“George, truth or dare?” Hermione questioned, filling his shot glass and sliding it to him. 

George downed the drink, his brown eyes finally looking bright and focused for the first time since you’d all arrived at the Burrow. “Dare.”

Now Hermione looked at you, gesturing between you and George. “You and you, seven minutes in heaven.” 

“What?” You spluttered, making Ron laugh as your mouth dropped open. You? And George? You and George? 

“You heard me,” she said calmly, but the corner of her lips curled mischievously. Hermione wasn’t angry at you for having her kiss Ron, not really. You could tell that much pretty easily. Hermione was, however, nothing if not a clever minx who always knew the best way to get back at people. “You and George. And neither of you can back out, can you?”

Two solemn shakes of yours and George’s heads confirmed her suspicion, though you couldn’t quite recall what he’d used his pass on. “Alright, then. Off you go.”

You were doing your best to calm your thundering heart as you saw George slowly stand up from the couch. You... _ fuck _ , you wanted it, okay? But you couldn’t make that obvious, not with everyone watching the two of you so carefully. The way that George’s grey crewneck hugged his shoulders, the way the collar was a bit stretched so it dipped slightly, exposing his collarbones...you didn’t know how  _ anyone _ could not feel the prick of want building in your stomach as you looked at him. 

Fuck, you were going to kiss George again. It shouldn’t have sent your heart racing the way that it did. 

“We’ll start the count once you guys get to...what, the upstairs bathroom should be good, right?” Fred asked, receiving nods from your friends. “And you both know that if you don’t do it, we’ll find out, so just be good lads and do it, alright?”

“Whatever,” George sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Standing up, you narrowed your eyes at him. “You seem rather grouchy, which is odd, because I remember you confessing you liked kissing me just a few minutes ago.”

Bold words fueled by nothing more than alcohol and partial arousal, but you had always been rather adept at running your mouth, especially when intoxicated. 

Ginny and Harry let out a whoop of laughter, making George roll his eyes. “And I recall Ginny saying you couldn’t stop going on about me before you knew it was me, so your little disgruntled act isn’t fooling anyone either.” 

_ Bastard _ . “I hate you, you know that?” You asked as the two of you left the room, heading towards the stairs.

“Lying’s a sin according to Muggles, you know,” George told you as you climbed the creaking staircase. 

“I’m not lying,” you defended, reaching the landing the bathroom was on and shoving the door open. 

George walked in after you, closing the door behind him. Suddenly, the bathroom felt much too small for the both of you as he towered over you. You took a step back, feeling the cold porcelain of the sink pressing into your bare skin, because  _ shit _ , you weren’t wearing a shirt. 

Of course you fucking weren’t. 

George walked forward, bracing his hands on the sink behind you, crowding you in. “Yes, you are. Do you know how I know?”

All you could do as the scent of broom wax and cinnamon overwhelmed your senses was shake your head. 

  
“Because, Scales,” George said, dropping his voice to a range that had your thighs pressing together ever so slightly. “You haven’t been able to stop thinking about me, and I…” he paused, his eyes darting down to your mouth,  _ lower _ , then back up. “And I can’t stop thinking about the fact that if I don’t get to kiss you right fucking now, I may just lose my damn mind.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this story just hit 5k reads and im just so incredibly grateful for all the love and support! thank you all so much. this chapter is a bit short, so apologies for that ive just felt a bit down this week and school starts tomorrow so updates might be a bit slower for the next couple of weeks unfortunately. still, i hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Your heart rate spiked dangerously high as George’s words caused heat to simmer low in your stomach. Maybe it was the Firewhiskey zipping through your veins, maybe it was the fact that you finally had a good fucking reason to kiss George again, but you said:

“What the hell are you waiting for, then?”

George’s hand slid to the back of your head, cupping your neck as his lips crashed down onto yours for the second time in reality. It felt like the millionth time because of how many dreams you’d had about his mouth, his  _ hands _ . 

One of those hands was now belted around your waist, tugging you roughly to George’s body, as if he needed you even closer. It was just like you remembered it from Halloween; his lips were smooth but moved aggressively against your own, his hands, callused from Quidditch, caused sparks of arousal to ripple up and down your spine. 

It was just like you remembered it, but somehow, it was  _ better _ this time, because you knew it was George fucking Weasley that you were kissing, that you were  _ sighing _ for. You had thought more than once that kissing him knowing it was him would make the experience worse, but as his hand tugged your head back, making you stand up on your tiptoes to better reach his mouth, it only excelled the feeling. 

George’s mouth was moving against yours as if in a synchronized dance where every movement made the fiery want burn hotter within you. You barely even had moments to breath, but you were far from complaining. In that moment, you would’ve traded air for  _ anything _ George was doing to you. 

Fuck, kissing George had your knees weak again, had your head spinning again. And he had been  _ needing _ this, apparently just as much as you had. Merlin knew you had tried to get him out of your system. You’d tried replacing the alluring feeling of his hands dancing across your skin with other people’s touches, but they weren’t George. 

Because George’s touch? It was like fucking  _ heroin _ , you were sure of it. It burned you, but in a way that only had you panting for more as his mouth left yours and traced that familiar trail down to your jaw and neck, wreaking havoc on the sensitive skin there. 

It didn’t even occur to you to warn him not to leave bruises, not because you were a bit tipsy, but because you  _ wanted _ evidence of his touch to stain your body for days to come. 

With a quick, smooth movement, with one arm George hoisted you up onto the porcelain counter, the cold surface stinging your feverish skin. George pressed between your legs, his hips colliding with yours with friction so sweet it had you panting as he worked kisses of varying roughness across the tender expanse of your neck. 

“Bloody hell, Scales,” George muttered against your skin. “I hate that I’ve been fucking waiting for this since Halloween.”

“I knew you were lying when you said you didn’t like kissing me that night,” you panted, your hands tugging at George’s thick red hair. 

“Just like you were, isn’t that right?” George mused, grinding his hips into yours and making a soft breath fall from your lips at the feeling of him dragging against you. “I may not be a mind reader, but I could tell the effect I had on you. You’re like an open book, really.”

You let out a laugh that was cut short by George’s lips brushing your collarbone as his thumb traced beneath the curve of your chest. “You’re one to talk. You were the one who pulled me away in the first place.”

George straightened, looking you in the eyes. “Scales, you were practically undressing me with your eyes from the moment I walked into the Great Hall. Don’t act like you’re so damn innocent in all of this.”

“Never said I was,” you told him, but your focus was mainly on getting his lips pressed against yours again. The nagging thought that you were running out of time cut through the foggy haze settling over your mind and you were desperate to make the most of this fleeting time you had been gifted. You had no clue when, if ever, you would get this chance again. 

Fuck, you wanted it to happen again, even when it hadn’t ended this time around yet. 

You decided to take matters into your own hands, so you surged forward, sealing your mouth against George’s in a confident move that had him groaning into your mouth as he wrapped a large hand around your upper thigh. 

His hand was tangling your hair, surely causing knots, but you didn’t care. It was hard to care about anything as his lips pressed against yours in a feverish battle, his breath hot and heavy. You couldn’t think about anything besides his mouth and the way his hand was slowly inching towards the center of your hips. 

You couldn’t stop your hands from running over his shoulders, down his arms and chest and stomach, feeling the tense muscle that rippled under his skin as he kissed you so hard you could barely breathe. Placing your hands against his chest, you skimmed your nails down, scratching him gently as he tugged on your hair. George let out a gruff sound that had your hips bucking into his without meaning to. You repeated the motion, and George let out another noise, this time louder. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You have no idea the fucking  _ effect _ you have on me.” 

You nodded against his mouth, pulling him in again because not kissing him for longer than a single second made your body jump with anxious anticipation. Every sound of his made heat shoot straight to your core, and every time he squeezed your thigh or pulled your hair or ghosted his hand over the curve of your chest, you were nearly ready to drop to your knees for him. 

You wanted  _ more _ ; fuck, you wanted all of George. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you drew him in closer, because any sort of distance, even the smallest gap, felt far too distant. His fingertips dug into the soft flesh of your thigh as you needily opened your mouth, letting his tongue swipe against your lip in a way that made your breath hitch. 

Every brush of his fingers, even over the material of your bottoms, was like a whisper of wildfire. You had no clue how it drove you so mad, especially when other people had done more to you and you’d had a fraction of the same reaction. 

Sitting on the counter in the Weasley’s bathroom with George’s mouth against yours, you had the sinking realization that this was only making things  _ worse _ . So much fucking worse, because you could already tell this was only pulling you further into George’s grasp.

His grip on your hair was steadfast, like he wasn’t ever going to let go, and you were perfectly fine with that. Because instead of satiating the lust that had been building up for over a month now, kissing George again was only making it worse, making you crave him even more. Pulling away from his mouth, you pressed featherlight kisses to his jaw, nipping at his skin with your teeth once you reached the corner of his jaw. 

As much as you hated not having his mouth against yours, the deep, rough noises that came from George as your lips danced across his skin was so fucking worth it. You knew that those moans that came from low in his chest would echo in your mind for…

Well, for as long as you had the ability to remember, you were sure of it. You had never heard such intoxicating, such  _ sinful _ noises. Quickly, your mind began to imagine the sounds he would make if your mouth was on him, or the way he would grunt and moan as he fucked you so hard you saw stars. 

Your mind had become very adept at making excuses for why it was okay to think of George that way. 

And  _ fuck _ , as much as you loathed to admit it, you knew he’d be  _ good _ . Better than any of the people you’d been with. There was a quiet sort of intensity that surrounded him that told you he’d leave you sore and breathless and lightheaded and you’d still be begging for more. 

Gods above, what was this boy doing to you? 

After a press of your mouth to his neck, without meaning to, you nipped at his skin so hard George let out a groaning sound of pain. You pulled away to apologize, but George’s hand flew up to your neck, squeezing roughly as you sucked in a surprised breath. The sharp aggression glinting in his eyes made a shocked sigh leave your mouth. 

“Don’t fucking  _ bite _ ,” George snarled, and the anger in his voice…

_ Fuck _ , it only made the situation in your knickers so much worse. 

Before you could even reply, he was kissing you again, kissing you like he’d been starved of it for years instead of a few minutes, and your body went limp against his. Completely drawn into him, completely consumed by his eyes and his hands and his mouth and the sounds rumbling in his chest, you lost yourself in him. 

Until a loud pounding on the door broke you from your lust-filled trance, causing George to jump away from you. 

“Oi, time’s up!” Fred shouted from beyond the door. “Put your clothes on and come back downstairs!”

The bitterness that filled you at Fred’s interruption shocked even you as you heard him clomp back down the stairs, leaving you and George to right yourselves before rejoining your friends. Daring to look at George, his jaw was clenched and his forehead was wrinkled with annoyance. Before you could say anything, George wiped the look of his face in the blink of an eye, returning to his usual suave, mischievous expression. 

Without so much as a word to you, George patted down his hair, smoothed out his shirt, and opened the door, leaving as quickly as Fred had. 

Good to know he was going to be mature about this, then. You sighed, combing through your hair with your fingers and thanking the stars that your neck was a consistent shade with no new red or purple marks. You followed George, hearing him already enter the living room by the time you were halfway down the stairs. Cheers and jokes rose as the group watched him walk in, and they only got worse once you arrived. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” Fred said, his lips turned down in a mocking frown. “I’m sure the two of you were just getting into it, weren’t you?”

“Piss off,” George muttered, shoving Fred’s hand away as he reached out to ruffle his hair. 

“You certainly are in a bad mood for someone who just got his jollies on for seven minutes,” Ginny told George, causing Harry to laugh. 

George rolled his eyes. “I did not just  _ get my jollies on _ , Gin. Don’t be disgusting.”

“By the look of Scales’ hair,” Fred interjected. “Sure seems like you two did.”

Your face flushed. You had sworn you had tamed it well enough, but the flash of frustration in George’s eyes told you you hadn’t done as good of a job as you thought. 

Ron nudged George. “‘Sides, we already know the two of you enjoyed it the first time. No use in pretending, right?”

Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Fred all nodded in agreement. George’s face was hard, as if he were trying to keep his emotions in check. You snorted, recalling the feverish way George had kissed you just a few minutes prior. Ginny turned to you, raising an eyebrow.

“What’re you laughing at?” She asked, her words interrupted by a soft hiccup as she tried to remain steady in her seat.

“‘S just funny, that’s all,” you said simply. “George hates me, I hate him, but he told me he’d been thinking about kissing me since Halloween! Funny thing, isn’t that.” You snorted again, laughter shaking your frame as George looked at you with enough fire that had you been sober, it would’ve sent you running. 

Fred let out a whistle, but Ginny caught George’s deadly gaze and said, “Right, I believe it’s Hermione’s turn, isn’t it?”

\-------

_ Callused hands skimmed down your stomach, coming to rest on your hips as George lay between your spread legs, his eyes heavy with lust as he pressed a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh. The action had your hips jumping slightly, reaching for attention, but George merely pressed them down.  _

_ “So needy,” he chastised, pressing another kiss to your thigh, but this one was higher, making heat pool low in your stomach.  _

_ You let out a huff, shaking your head. “I’m not,” you disagreed, even as you could feel your own arousal dripping onto the bed beneath you.  _

_ “No?” George asked, making you shake your head. “Then I guess you don’t need me to do this,” he said, shifting so that his face was now poised right in front of your hips.  _

_ With a steady touch, George licked a slow stripe up your cunt, making a low whine fall from your lips. “Or this,” George continued, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your hips. “Or this,” he said, trailing his fingers down and pressing them against your entrance, light enough that it only worsened the aching need radiating through your hips.  _

_ When you didn’t answer, George pulled his hand and mouth away, leaving you to groan softly through clenched teeth. You  _ needed _ his touch, you needed that release that had been building since Halloween- the one that no other person had been able to satiate.  _

_ “Just tell me you need it, Scales,” George crooned, poising two fingers at your entrance again. He lowered his mouth as he did, closing his lips around that bundle of nerves and flicking his tongue. Your breath caught in your chest and your hands gripped the sheets with an iron grip.  _

_ “Just beg for me to make you come, and I’ll make you come so hard you see stars.,” George murmured against your hips. “I know you’ve been waiting for this. I know you need me worse than you’ve ever needed anyone. No one has been able to make you feel as good as you deserve, have they?” _

_ You shook your head, biting down on your lower lip as George teased you with his fingers, dipping them into you briefly before pulling back out again. “Then just beg for me, Scales. Beg for me like the good little whore that you are, and I’ll make you scream my fucking name.” _

_ Gods, George was right. You were practically burning for him, and no amount of boys or girls had been good enough to erase the memory of his mouth. “George,” you let out softly.  _

_ “Hm?”  _

_ “I need it-you, I need you,” you told him.  _

_ You needed him, and you...didn’t hate that. You wanted his hands to explore every inch of your skin, to tease you and hurt you and leave marks that would remind you for days that he had owned your body.  _

_ George licked another stripe along your cunt, making you gasp at the sudden sensation. “You can do much better than that, surely.” _

_ Fine, you thought to yourself. His touch, so fleeting and minute, still had you nearly falling apart with how much you were longing for him. “George,  _ please _ , please make me feel good. I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” you panted, finally past the point of caring whether it was embarrassing or not.  _

_ George groaned. “Good girl,” he praised as he suddenly plunged his fingers into you and curled them up.  _

_ You let out a gasping moan at the feeling, your hands flying up to tangle in George’s hair. “Fuck,” you whispered.  _

_ George laughed softly against you, pumping his fingers steadily. “Merlin’s beard, I love seeing you desperate,” he said, quickening his pace and making a constant stream of whines and moans and swears pour from your mouth. “All desperate and needy for  _ me _ , Scales. Not any of those other useless guys you think will fuck you good enough.”  _

_ You could feel your release barreling towards you as George fucked you with those long, rough fingers of his that you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about every time you were near him. His mouth was hot, sending shocks of nearly overwhelming pleasure through you as he worked, as he coaxed your orgasm from you.  _

_ Tugging on his red locks that were beginning to curl slightly from sweat, you-- _

“Oi! Get up!”

Ginny’s voice shattered your dream, the midmorning sun stinging your eyes as you opened them. Ginny and Hermione were standing above you, both dressed and looking like they’d been up for a while. 

You couldn’t stop the disappointment that flooded you as you were shoved back into the real world. Back into the world where George’s head wasn’t nestled between your thighs, where his mouth and fingers…

Sitting up slightly, you could feel the arousal that had pooled between your legs from the dream. Merlin’s beard, what were you, a first-year boy? Having a damn wet dream about someone...you shook your head internally at yourself. 

_ Ridiculous _ .

“You’re going to miss breakfast if you don’t get your lazy ass out of bed,” Ginny chastised. 

You groaned, rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes. “Merlin, Gin. I just woke up. Give me a moment or two.”

“Well, the boys are already down there, so I’d hurry if I were you,” Hermione said. “You know how they eat. It’s like they’ll never see food again.”

Ginny laughed lightly. “Yeah, like Mum has ever  _ not _ made so much food we can barely eat it all.”

“Oh, she’s back?” You asked, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Your head spun as you sat up, your throat dry as your hangover pummeled into you. “Shit,” you groaned, clutching your head. 

Hermione held out a glass full of green, sludgy liquid. “Here, this’ll help. It’s a Muggle cure for hangovers,” she told you as you raised an eyebrow at the disgusting drink. 

Grabbing the glass, you took a sip and immediately, your face twisted with displeasure as the sour, tangy taste hit you. “That’s fucking awful,” you said, forcing yourself to swallow another sip. 

Ginny nodded, looking to the empty glass that was on her bedside table. “Oh, it’s vile, but it helps, I swear.” 

Hermione furrowed her face as you turned. “Wait, tilt your head to the side,” she said, and you did, which made Ginny and Hermione let out twin gasps. 

“What?” You demanded, a hand reaching up to feel your neck. “Oh, don’t tell me-”

“Just one,” Ginny confirmed. “It’s...only a bit noticeable.”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. In the moment, you had wanted him to mark you, but in the light of day, you just felt rather annoyed about it. “Bloody hell,” you swore, rubbing your face. “Fucking git.”

“So, are you two-”

“No,” you interrupted Hermione. “No, we’re...nothing. We’re still...whatever we’ve always been.”

Ginny took your empty glass from you, then sat beside you on the mattress. “Do you, y’know-”

“No,” you repeated. “I-no. Absolutely not.”

Ginny snorted. “Right. Sure. Of course not.”

“I don’t!” You  _ didn’t _ . 

Ginny put her hands up, offering you a short smile. “Alright, got it. That topic is off limits.”

You knew she wasn’t convinced, but- fuck,  _ you _ weren’t even convinced. There wasn’t anything in the world you wanted to think about  _ less _ in that moment, though. Even entertaining the thought...there was just no fucking way. 

And Merlin knew George still fucking hated your guts. You doubted that would ever change, no matter how many times the two of you kissed. 

Right? 

“Let’s go eat,” Hermione said, nodding towards the door. “Those boys won’t save any food for us if we don’t get downstairs soon.”

Your stomach lurched a bit when you stood, but you left the room with Ginny and Hermione and made your way downstairs. All the while, your head was racing, your thoughts circling around George, and last night, and Halloween, and your dream. 

_ Shit _ , your dream. It had been...it had been so  _ good _ . You hated it. 

The boys and Molly were already sitting at the table when you got to the kitchen, eating and talking and laughing. Molly’s eyes were a bit lighter than the day before, which eased some of the lingering tension in your chest. That meant that Arthur was alright, at least. 

As you went to sit down, taking a seat between Ron and Fred, the front door swung open, making you all look up. 

Standing in the doorway, Arthur was grinning broadly, his head wrapped with a stained bandage, his arm in a sling, and countless cuts and bruises painting his face and any bit of visible skin. 

Shutting the door behind him as you all stood quickly, Arthur said brightly, “Good morning!” 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delayed update! school has already begun to drown me in homework but i think this is a nice little breather chapter so i hope you all enjoy<333

You felt your heart squeeze in your chest as everyone looked at the injured man, who was smiling so widely one might’ve thought he’d been off on vacation, not recovering from a near-fatal attack by a snake that had been thicker than your torso. 

Glancing over at Harry, you knew, much like yourself, that his vision was swirling through his head as he looked at his best friend’s father. It helped ease the guilt by the smallest amount, but you still felt strangely responsible for what had happened to him. 

You couldn’t imagine how much worse Harry must’ve been feeling. 

Molly’s eyes widened at the sight of her husband. “Arthur! Kingsley told me you weren’t coming home for another day or two. What did you do?”

“Nothing, dear, truly,” Arthur told her, smiling at his worried wife. “I just asked if I might be able to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with my family. The Healers told me that as long as I was resting and I continued to apply the salve they gave me, it was just fine.”

Molly tutted, muttering to herself that it was a ridiculously and insanely irresponsible choice as she walked to the kitchen, piling a plate high with steaming breakfast. Arthur looked at your group, his eyebrows furrowed. “You’d think she’d be happy I was home,” he sighed. 

Hermione guided Arthur to the table, pulling out a chair for him. “You know she means well, Arthur,” she consoled. “She’s just worried. Remember when Harry fell off his broom one summer and nearly shattered his shoulder?”

Arthur chuckled as Ginny poured coffee into a mug and handed it to her father. “She nearly bit your head off, didn’t she?” Arthur asked Harry, who grinned, but it was shaky. 

“That she did,” he confirmed, grimacing at the memory. “It’s just how Molly shows her love, I’m afraid.” 

“I do hope I’m hearing my name in there because you all are discussing how much you’re enjoying my cooking,” Molly said as she brought Arthur’s plate to him. 

“Yes, yes, of course, dear,” Arthur assured her quickly. 

\-------

Though Molly had to nearly force him to sit down, Arthur spent the rest of the day relaxing and applying a salve to his wounds that caused the Burrow to smell of mint and lavender. He seemed in good spirits, but you were still worried. 

Harry was as well, because he had volunteered the two of you to degnome the garden. You had sent him a reproachful stare, but once you caught the anxiety dancing in his eyes, you softened your face and went without complaint. 

As you walked out to the garden with him, Fred and George were on their way to clean out the shed once more, as they had tracked mud through it while sorting their brooms. Fred smiled happily at you and Harry, but George refused to look at you, which made your heart plummet, even as you refused to acknowledge that it had. 

“Harry, Arthur is okay,” you told him quietly. “I know...I know it was terrifying, but he’s back and he’s going to be okay. You heard what Kingsley told him. A few scars, maybe a bit of time before he regains all his strength, but he’ll be good as new.”

Harry wiped his face as he tossed a gnome into the bucket beside him. “I know. That’s not why I’m worried, though. I mean, not entirely.”

“Then what’s going on?”

Standing up straight, Harry rubbed his scar absentmindedly. “It worries me that you and I both had the same vision. And why was I the snake? Why wasn’t I just a bystander like you? Did I...did I somehow-”

“No. Harry,  _ no _ ,” you insisted, standing up. “You can’t possibly really believe that you’re the reason Arthur was attacked.”

“I know I’m not. Logically, at least. But there’s still a part of me that thinks...maybe I was,” Harry confessed softly. 

“If it was your fault, then it was my fault, too,” you said. “I was there. I didn’t stop it either.”

“That’s insane. Of course you-”

You raised a brow. “See? I know it’s easy to blame yourself, Harry. You always do,” you told him, nudging his shoulder. 

Harry cracked a small smile, looking down at his feet. “Have you had any other…”

You shook your head. “Not since the night Arthur was attacked. Maybe...it was just a one-off thing.”

“Maybe,” Harry repeated, but the lack of conviction in his voice made your chest tighten. “I just can’t figure out why you were there in the first place.”

You’d asked yourself that question so many times you’d lost count. There was no logical reason for you to have shared Harry’s vision. You’d never had anything like that happen to you before that night, and as far as you knew, neither you nor your parents had any connection to Voldemort like Harry did. 

The only thing you shared with Voldemort was the fact that you were in Slytherin and you were a Pureblood. You hoped, even though you shared a House, that you were still wildly different from the Dark Lord. 

You’d never voice that particular anxiety to anyone besides Harry, so you said, “What if...do you think it’s because I’m a Slytherin? Like somehow, that connected me to Him?”

Harry turned towards you sharply, an angry look in his eye. “Now you sound as ridiculous as I do. Don’t ever think that. I mean it.”

The conviction in his voice that was now present shocked you, but provided a comfort you hadn’t known you’d been searching for. 

“You are a Slytherin, yes. You are a Slytherin, and you embody every single positive trait that that House values. You are cunning, loyal, wicked smart, and you protect your friends and family,” Harry said. “I know what people think,” he said, and you could’ve sworn his eyes darted to the shed where Fred and George’s shouts were coming from, “and they’re wrong about you. Maybe not about Malfoy, but about you? Absolutely.”

You snorted softly. “Well, Malfoy would be a right foul git no matter what House he was in,” you replied. 

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Tossing a wriggling gnome into your own bucket, your face twisted with confusion. “What do you mean,  _ maybe _ ?”

“I mean...maybe Malfoy is more a product of his environment than anything,” Harry explained. “Even though you grew up with all those Pureblood, Slytherin values, you’re wildly different from the majority of your House because of your parents and because you and Ron became friends.” 

“Am I?” You asked, more to yourself than anything. 

You didn’t know how Harry could tell, but he said, “Yes, even if there are certain gits who treat you otherwise. Especially if those gits happen to be twins.”

“I don’t really care either way what they think,” you replied. 

What a total fucking lie. You hated it, but you inexplicably hoped that both Fred and George considered you a good person. It felt unfair, as childish as that sounds, that you had to work so much harder to prove you were a good person purely because of what House you’d been sorted into. There were much nastier, much more terrible people at Hogwarts who _ weren’t _ Slytherin. 

Like that Hufflepuff girl during your third year who had hexed you so hard you’d spent a night with Madam Pomfrey because you’d snorted and told her off when she’d claimed that Harry was in love with her and that they’d been shagging for weeks. You still had a scar that ran across your forearm from her attack, but the look of rage on her face had been worth it. 

“It’s okay if you do,” Harry told you plainly. “No one would judge you for that. It’s natural, you know?”

You huffed out a short laugh. “Not for a Slytherin. I’m supposed to be sure about everything, and be cunning and wicked and all that other shite that sometimes seems so...stupid to care about.”

“You’re more Slytherin than anyone I know. You’re a  _ true _ Slytherin. D’you ever think that’s why he picks on you so much?” Harry asked, and you didn’t need clarification. You knew who he was referring to, because Harry had turned and seen your eyes lingering on the boy in question. 

It was a terrible habit you’d developed over the past few days. Without meaning to, you would glance around every so often to see where George was. You didn’t know why, not really. It was just...you just needed to know. 

“What, because he can’t stand me more than he can’t stand all the other Slytherins?”

Harry laughed, wiping a drop of sweat from his dark hairline. “Do you want to know what I think?”

_ Yes, so badly.  _ “Sure.”

“I think,” Harry said, wrestling with a particularly difficult gnome, “that he picks on you the way that he does because he hates that he’s finally met a Slytherin who he admires, or one that he could at least admire if he got to know you better. I think that he knows that you’re different, and that scares him because he’s so used to being able to know what to expect from your House. I think, quite honestly, that you scare him.”

“I scare him?” You repeated. 

Harry nodded, finally tugging the creature free from the cold dirt. “Yeah. You scare him because he doesn’t know what to expect from you, but I think it also draws him to you. I think he picks on you because it’s easier to keep up the front that he hates you than to admit he was wrong and admit that he could very well have feelings for the girl he’s always despised.”

You tried not to show the way excitement electrified you as your heart thundered in your chest. Harry seemed so sure, and it made you nervous, but in a way that had your feet itching to approach George and demand he tell you himself if what Harry thought was true. You couldn’t tell if you thought it made sense because you  _ wanted _ it to, or because it truly did. 

“Feelings?” You inquired. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I know I’m rather oblivious at times, especially when it comes to feelings, but c’mon. The way you look at George has gone from night to day since Halloween. You used to barely notice when he was around before that unless he was antagonizing you, and now, you can barely keep yourself from searching for him every time you walk into a room.”

You felt embarrassment creep up your neck as Harry outed your feelings so entirely. “Maybe... _ maybe _ you’re right, but if you tell anyone-”

“I won’t. I swear it,” Harry promised. 

“Sometimes,” you said carefully, as if you weren’t sure you wanted to admit it at all, “I...wish that I wasn’t...who I am.”

“Stop that,” Harry chided. “We love you- I love you- because of who you are and who you’ve always been. But…” he sighed, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “I wish that sometimes, too.”

“What? Why?” You inquired, a bit confused.

Don’t you ever think about it sometimes?”

“Think about what?”

Harry sighed, depositing a gnome and going for another. “If we weren’t who we are. If the world wasn’t how it is. How different things could’ve been.”

The tone, the longing in his voice hit your chest so roughly that you had to take a moment to reign in your own as you looked over at George, who was actually focusing on his work for once. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

\-------

As the sun dipped below the horizon and gave way to a brilliantly clear night sky that had countless specks of stars painted across it, the Burrow’s inhabitants were all gathered in the living room. It was a tight fit, and you felt a little like a sardine crammed in a can, but you didn’t mind. 

Not when the fire was roaring, your stomach was full, Arthur was home safe, and George had somehow ended up next to you on the old couch, his thigh pressed firmly against yours regardless of how far either of you tried to move. 

Even the simple, light heat of his leg against yours made it a bit difficult to focus on what was happening, but you weren’t complaining. 

You probably should’ve been, with the way George had treated you like you had dragon pox all day. It had been so severe that Arthur had pulled you aside to ask if everything was alright between the two of you. You had assured him everything was business as usual, and he had grinned brightly at that. 

At least you hadn’t only been lying to him. You’d been lying to yourself, too. You didn’t know what you had been expecting from George after the previous night, but it certainly was not being treated like you carried a host of incurable, contagious diseases. 

As if he hadn’t told you he was going to go mad if he hadn’t been able to kiss you.  _ Git _ . 

Arthur was sitting nearest to the fire, his muscles still sore and stiff from the exertion the attack had caused him. His spirits seemed high, and that boosted the rest of the group’s, including Molly’s. 

“It’s good to be home,” Arthur mused softly. “St. Mungo’s may be the best hospital around, but it certainly is not a very  _ fun _ place.”

Ron snorted, then yelped as Hermione elbowed him sharply. “We’re glad you’re back, Mr. Weasley,” she told him softly. 

The group nodded in unison, and you knew you weren’t the only person in the room who was having a hard time keeping their emotions in check. George relaxed slightly next to you, and on your other side, Ginny leaned into you, resting her head on your shoulder. 

“Yeah, Dad. I don’t--we don’t-” Ginny started, but her voice sounded thick with tears and she had to stop herself. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Arthur seemed shocked by his youngest’s show of distress, because Ginny hardly ever let her emotions surface so openly. “It was scary, and I can’t imagine how terrified you all must’ve been.”

“Listen to Dad. He’s apologizing for  _ scaring _ us,” George muttered to Fred, who snorted softly as he lounged in the armchair next to the couch you were sitting on. 

“But it’s in the past now!” Arthur finished, and though he was still visibly injured and his step had developed a bit of a hitch, he was right. 

You had a feeling that besides Arthur, you and Harry were going to have the hardest time moving forward from the attack. Everyone had been equally worried about Arthur, but you and Harry had actually  _ seen _ it. You’d been doing everything in your power to force away the memories of the vision that seemed to creep up at the oddest of times, but having Arthur back made it worse. 

You were happy he was home and safe, of course. But looking at his scars, smelling the mint salve, hearing Molly fret over his every move...it made you remember his screams and the bright flashes of his blood that had decorated that dark hallway. 

Therapy was a Muggle concept, but having that vision had you wondering if it wasn’t worth checking out. 

“Hot chocolate anyone?” Molly offered, and received a resounding yes from everyone. You heard Fred muse that he might slip some Firewhiskey into his own, but you shook your head when he raised his brows at you as his way of offering some. 

You still felt that sluggishness and slight nausea that came with a hangover, and you had no desire to lengthen the aftermath. Molly quickly shoved a steaming mug of the sweet drink into everyone’s hands, and you sighed softly at the warmth as it flooded your skin. 

George, still crammed onto the couch next to you, shifted slightly at the noise. His red hair was a bit disheveled, and just looking at them caused you to remember how soft it had been the night before. Every movement of his seemed to set off some sort of alarm in you, and it was hard to pretend like you were tracking the brush of his thigh against yours or the way his arm shifted against your shoulder as he reached forward to place his cup on the table. Between the hot chocolate and George’s smell of cinnamon and broom wax, you felt comfortably tired. His smell, you realized with no small amount of surprise, had become-not home, not really. But something similar. Something familiar. 

_ Merlin _ . 

You hadn’t meant to, but as the group talked and reminisced over past holidays, you felt your eyes drop low with exhaustion, and with Ginny leaning into you from one side, you leaned against the warm, inviting body next to you. It was only for a moment, and you’d been almost entirely sure George hadn’t noticed, but you’d jerked away so suddenly Ginny had furrowed her ginger eyebrows at you. 

How you’d forgotten George, who hadn’t said a single word to you all day, was sitting next to you on that old, comfortable couch, you didn’t know. You did, however, know that leaning into him had felt…

Well, fuck, it had felt good, okay? You had felt your chest ache the moment you shoved yourself back upright, but it seemed Ginny had been the only one to notice the second of change in your behaviour. Luckily, Fred had been holding George’s attention in the form of a rather lewd joke he’d made about something Harry had said. 

Maybe if George had noticed though, he would’ve actually spoken to you. 

You had nearly given yourself a headache trying to figure out his drastic changes in behaviour. You had never been one of those girls that obsessed over every small thing a boy did, but really that was simply because you’d never--gods, it had never been  _ George _ you’d been enamoured with. 

You didn’t  _ get _ enamoured with boys. And yet, George could  _ breathe _ differently around you, and you’d notice. 

After a short hour of chatting happily and consuming litres of hot chocolate, everyone decided to head to bed. It was, after all, Christmas Eve, and Molly and Arthur always packed the day full of celebrations. Besides, Molly was practically forcing Arthur to get some rest, even when he protested that it was barely ten. 

There had even been a small hint that you might have some surprise visitors tomorrow, and you hoped silently it was Sirius and maybe even Professor Lupin, who had been telling you to call him Remus ever since he had been fired from Hogwarts. It was strange, to be so casual with a former professor, but you found that beyond being a great teacher, Remus was also a wonderful man. 

And Sirius? If Firewhiskey was a person, it would be him. Loud, brash, full of more love than you’d ever thought possible, even from the Weasleys. You smiled gently at the thought of him. Though the Weasleys, Hermione, and you were Harry’s family, you knew that Sirius had brought a new meaning to the word as they had gotten closer. He was Harry’s closest connection to his parents, and you had caught them once reminiscing about James and Lily. 

It had felt like you’d intruded on an incredibly private moment, though you supposed you had. Both of the dark haired boys,  _ men _ , had had so much sorrow and longing written across their faces that you had quickly left.

And maybe, they’d finally let you know what was going on with the Order. They had pushed all of you out of any meetings you’d attempted to attend, even when Harry had demanded he be a part of them. He was the Chosen One, he’d argued, but to no avail. Between Molly, Arthur, and Sirius, there was no way in hell any of you were joining until you were of age. Which, it dawned on you, Fred and George now were. Perhaps they’d finally be allowed into the Order. 

It wasn’t as if you weren’t well-versed in fighting Voldemort. Though you hadn’t been with Harry when he had seen Voldemort be reborn, but you’d been along with him, Ron, and Hermione for most of their unfortunate encounters with the Dark Lord or his followers. 

You trudged up the rickety wooden stairs, followed closely by Harry, Ginny, and Fred. Hermione and Ron had offered to stay behind and clean the living room, which you all knew meant they just wanted some alone time. 

And George? He’d vanished as if he’d Disapparated. Fred hadn’t mentioned that he’d gone anywhere, and you couldn’t find the courage to ask, so you just let it go. 

Or tried to, anyways, but it proved to be difficult once you were lying in your bed with nothing to do but think. Your body was tired, but your mind was jumping,  _ tripping _ , over thoughts about George. 

Always George lately. Your entire day had been thoughts of George. What was going on with you? Why did you feel such a twinge of anxiety as you thought about the fact that you didn’t know for sure that he was safe and sound in his room?

He’d been avoiding you and you were not happy about it. You’d not dare admit that to anyone, but you had to at least admit it to yourself. It seemed like such a waste of energy to pretend otherwise. 

Acceptance was the first step, right? 

You laughed gently to yourself as you curled onto your side, George’s red hair, his bright grin, his amber eyes flashing in your mind. His  _ eyes _ . You couldn’t help yourself- they were such a unique color, almost like a fox’s at times. And when firelight was dancing in them, you felt like your breath stuck in your lungs. 

Merlin’s beard, you’d somehow started to develop some sort of feelings for George that weren’t entirely resentful. You’d rather have another vision than admit it to anyone out loud, much less Ron, but you did. 

You wanted to tell Ron. Or, you  _ would _ want to, if George were literally any other boy. 

_ Shit _ . You hadn’t even considered how Ron would take this if he ever found out. He knew about the two of you snogging-obviously- but you had somehow managed to avoid having the conversation with him about how he felt about it. If you knew Ron, and you did, you knew he would likely feel replaced, or second best, if he discovered you harbored feelings for one of his older brothers. 

And he  _ wasn’t _ . Ron was your best friend. He would never come second and no one could ever replace him. You swore to yourself right then and there, while you listened to Hermione gently tug the door to Ginny’s room open and slip into the dark space, that no matter what, Ron would always come first. If George and you somehow stopped being stubborn enough to even just sit down and talk about how the two of you felt and it turned into  _ anything _ , you’d ask Ron how he felt about it. 

If he wasn’t on board, you’d end things right then and there. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my dear readers! i have some unfortunate news: its quite likely that i caught covid from a kid at the daycare i work at which obviously is rather shitty seeing as ive been so incredibly careful during all this specifically so i could keep the kids i work with safe. im getting tested in two days, so im not sure yet, but if my updates are slow or my writing is a bit crap thats why! anyways i really am proud of this chapter so i hope you all enjoy!

Yes, you were nearly an adult by the Wizarding world’s standards, but when you woke up the next morning, your heart began racing with excited anticipation as you looked out the window and saw fresh snow falling from the sky. Happily, you turned and began shaking Hermione awake, your eyes still glued to the large white flakes flurrying past Ginny’s room. Hermione groaned, shoving your hand away, but you persisted. 

“Come on, ‘Mione! It’s snowing!!!” You exclaimed. 

Hermione sighed, rubbing her eyes as she slowly woke up. “Christ, it is too early for you to be so excited,” she complained. 

You rolled your eyes as you pushed your covers back and hopped out of bed. The cold floor on your bare feet made you hiss but you continued on your path, rushing to the window to get a better look at the frosty wonderland you’d woken up to. 

“It’s Christmas and it’s  _ snowing _ ! Of course I’m going to be excited,” you said, grinning broadly. 

Ginny stirred, her eyes flying open almost as quickly as yours had once she saw the snow flying in the air outside. “It’s snowing!” She half-yelled. 

Hermione groaned once more, but pushed her covers back. “Fine, since the two of you insist on being loud,” she grumbled. “Shall we find the boys? I’m sure they’ve already been up for a while, knowing them.”

You and Ginny nodded quickly, pulling on sweaters and mittens and hats until you were sufficiently bundled. The three of you left your room, trying to quietly walk down the rickety stairs. Molly, however, was already in the kitchen with Arthur, and the two of them were talking and laughing as Arthur tried to help Molly prepare breakfast. 

_ Tried _ being the operative word, because it seemed that he was being much more of a hindrance than a help. Usually, Molly would be correcting him or telling him to go tinker with something while she finished cooking, but not today. Today, even as Arthur clearly messed up a boiling pot of something that smelled absolutely divine, Molly merely smiled softly at her husband before fixing his mistake. 

Seeing the two of them interact so sweetly made you smile, and you could tell Hermione and Ginny were thinking the same. Molly had been so worried about Arthur, and you were overjoyed that the family was all back together under the same roof. 

As you reached the kitchen, Molly turned around, a pleased smile on her face. “Good morning, my dears! The boys just left to go play Quidditch, if you’d like to join them.”

You and Ginny practically rushed out the door with a less-than-excited Hermione in tow. Playing Quidditch in the snow made your fingers feel frozen to the broom and every hit and bump hurt ten times worse, but you always loved it. Whizzing past the snowflakes at such high speed made it look like they were frozen in time as you shot upwards, and you loved flying above the white, glistening landscape. 

Harry, Ron, Fred, and George were all pulling out brooms and the trunk that held the Quaffle and Bludgers, their noses already red with cold. George’s eyes were bright and his smile was wide as he joked with his brothers, and you felt something stir in your stomach as you watched him. 

You hadn’t seen him this...this  _ present _ , this happy since you’d arrived at the Burrow, and it was doing something wonderful to your mind. His laugh reached the three of you before any of the boys spotted you. 

Hermione nearly called out to them, but Ginny held a finger to her lips and motioned to the ground. Immediately catching on to what she was suggesting, you grinned widely as you, Ginny, and Hermione began scooping up snow. Pressing the fresh powder into balls, you made a good armful before Ginny nodded and you began throwing. 

Your first snowball hit George in the shoulder, causing him to yell in surprise as the cold washed over him. You hadn’t  _ meant _ to hit George- you’d been going for Ron, who was standing right next to him- but there was no turning back now. The boys turned quickly, but they were soon bombarded with a flurry of snowballs, covering them in ice and powder. 

Soon, though, your snowballs ran out, and the three of you shared a look of wide-eyed worry. The boys barely gave you time to try and run before they were on you, making you laugh loudly as you tried to pull out of their grips. Ron and Fred had Hermione, Harry had wrapped his arms around Ginny so tightly she couldn’t squirm away, and George?

George had gone straight for you once you had run out of ammunition and had picked you up with ease, tossing you over his shoulder as if you weighed no more than a school bag. You hadn’t even had time to resist before he’d hoisted you into the air, and you hoped the cold was covering up the red that was blooming on your face. 

“Well, boys, since our lovely girls here have decided they wanted to have some fun,” Fred declared joyously, “shall we show them some fun in return?”

You didn’t like the mischievous look on Fred’s face, not one bit, but it didn’t matter. 

“What do you have in mind, Freddie?” George asked, and the tone in his voice was one that he only used when he and Fred were just about to pull a prank of epic proportions. 

“Ron, Harry, any suggestions?” Fred asked, turning to the other boys. 

“Do you remember that sticking charm Sirius showed us? The one he did to Snape in school their fourth or fifth year?” Harry chimed in. 

You couldn’t see George’s face, but you could just  _ tell _ he was grinning like a child on Christmas morning. Which, to be fair, you supposed it was, but still, you didn’t trust it at all. George’s hands shifted you slightly, grazing your waist as he spoke. 

“Why, of course I do. Freddie?”

“Ready when you are, Georgie!” Fred answered. 

George suddenly let go of his grip on you, letting you down from his shoulder. As he did, your body slid against his until your feet hit the ground, and you thanked Merlin that your knees remained steady as you stood. 

Harry, Ron, and Fred let go of Ginny and Hermione, and the three of you looked at each other with confused expressions before Fred and George shouted an incantation you’d never heard of. A shadow fell over you, and you looked up to see a heavy grey cloud floating above your head. Ginny and Hermione had matching ones, and you didn’t see what all the fuss was about, until the twins waved their wands again. 

Suddenly, a storm of icy cold snowflakes began coating the three of you. It wasn’t the light, fluffy powder that had fallen on the Burrow that morning, though. It was the heavy, slushy kind that froze you to the bone and stuck to everything it touched. 

You tried to duck away from it, but the cloud followed you, and it seemed the other girls had similar misfortune. Your layered clothing was rapidly becoming soaked, and you narrowed your eyes at the boys, who were roaring with laughter as Ginny tried to bat away her cloud with her hands. 

The sludgy snow was wracking your body with sharp shivers and you could feel the cold rivulets trailing down your back and chest under your sweater. Your hair was practically dripping, and you could barely stop your teeth chattering long enough to think of a counter-spell. 

If Sirius had made this up during his time at Hogwarts, though...you swore violently, making George laugh even harder. There was no way you could find a counter-spell, not with how badly your hands were shaking. And, you reminded yourself, you couldn’t even  _ do  _ magic outside of Hogwarts, not yet. 

_ Shit _ . 

Hermione was trying her luck with Ron, who was starting to look incredibly guilty as Hermione really played up the cold. You snorted to yourself. She really knew how to play that boy like a fiddle, didn’t she?

Gritting your teeth, you stalked over to George, who was watching Ginny still try and fend off her cloud as she chased Fred. George turned to you, his eyebrows raising. “My, my, Scales. I didn’t know you were one of those burn-the-bra types.” 

You nearly crossed your arms over your chest as mortification hit you, but you decided perhaps it was time to follow Hermione’s example. “I don’t hear you complaining,” you said sweetly, letting your sweater hug your bare chest as the snow drenched it and made it stick to your skin. 

George’s eyes widened for a moment, unused to you flirting with him so openly. Or flirting with him at all, really. Then he regained his composure, smirking at you. “Oh, I’m not. It doesn’t surprise me, though. What with you being you, and all.”

You resisted the urge to narrow your eyes at him. “What, jealous that you’ve not had the privilege of seeing me without my shirt on?”

Well, without your  _ bra _ on, since you’d been very shirtless the night before last in the bathroom. 

George snorted. “Me? Jealous? Not of any of the people you’ve gone out with, that’s for damn sure.”

His words were confident, but his eyes were incredibly telling, because it seemed he wasn’t able to pull his gaze away from your chest for more than a moment or two. “C’mon, George,” you replied, stepping closer to him. Almost close enough for your cloud to be over him. “I know you think about me. You’ve told me so yourself,” you said. 

“Can’t trust anything a man says in the throes of passion, Scales,” George objected. “You should know that better than anyone.”

You rolled your eyes, moving forward while you kept your eyes on George’s. You prayed he wouldn’t look up and notice how close the cloud was to him until it was too late. “I’d believe you if you could stop staring at my tits for longer than two seconds,” you replied simply, and you were close enough to smell him, to feel the heat rippling off his body. By your side, your hand twitched as your mind longed to reach out and touch George, but you didn’t. 

“I’m not staring at your-your tits,” George argued, but his voice cracked the tiniest bit at the mention of your chest. 

A smug feeling washed over you, and you replied, “I’d rather you did.”

This had George near-speechless, and you took your chance, surging forward and pushing George to the snow-covered ground. He landed with a sharp oof, but you didn’t give him time to recover before you sat heavily on his stomach, your knees digging into his hands and keeping them stuck on the ground. 

Your cloud began raining down on George, soaking him with icy, wet snow that had him cursing as the cold seeped into him. Realistically, George probably could’ve had you flipped off of him and pinned down to the ground in less than five seconds, but he only struggled mildly, as if you were really heavy enough to keep him down. 

“Gerrof,” George panted. “You’re heavy!”

Smacking his chest with an open palm, you said, “Just for that, I’m not getting off until you’re nice to me!” You declared. 

“I am...nice to...you!” George grunted as he tried to twist out from underneath you. 

You let out a loud scoff. “Lies, George Weasley! You’re nothing but an utter arse to me, and you know it!”

“Am not!”

“When have you said one nice thing to me? Ever?” You shot back, watching as George’s red hair was plastered to his face by the snow. “I’d probably die of shock if you ever did!”

George stopped struggling, looking up at you with an odd expression. “I was nice to you the night before last,” he said quietly. 

At this, you let out an even louder laugh. “Even if you were, which you  _ weren’t _ ,” you added as George opened his mouth to protest, “‘Can’t trust anything a man says in the throes of passion’, right?”

George groaned as you quoted his words back to him. “Okay, fine, whatever. You’re not heavy, okay? Now get off.”

“Oh, my, never have I been so romanced in my entire life,” you deadpanned. “Is it really that hard for you to be nice to me?”

You gestured to the cloud above you that was still soaking the pair of you. “You’d rather get hypothermia than just be nice to me?”

It...hurt, oddly enough, but you weren’t letting it show. It was your fault, anyways. You knew he wasn’t nice to you, and you always assumed he didn’t have the capability of being nice to you. Thankfully, you were spared an answer as you heard a whistle from behind you. You scrambled off of George, rising to your feet as you saw the rest of the group watching the two of you. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Fred said cheekily, making George glare at him. “But we figured we’d tortured the girls enough.”

Sure enough, Hermione and Ginny were both free of their clouds, but still shivering violently. Fred waved his wand and yours vanished, making you sigh in relief as you were set free from the relentless storm of ice. 

You tried to act completely casual, but it was difficult to ignore the prying stares of your friends as George got himself up from the ground. Pulling out his wand, he cast a wordless heating and drying charm over himself. The rush of magic and heat that followed nearly had you sighing once more as you realized just how cold you were. 

Ron and Harry noticed the semi-frozen state of their friends, so they urged the girls inside and stayed back to put away the Quidditch stuff for now. You felt bad for dripping water onto Molly’s floors and stairs, but you were more focused on getting out of your wet clothes and into clean, dry ones to worry much about it. A hot shower sounded positively orgasmic right then, so you beelined to the bathroom, eager to warm up. 

With shaking hands, you peeled off your soaking clothes and quickly started the shower, turning it to the hottest possible temperature you could before you would burn yourself. You let out a soft breath as the hot water cascaded over your frozen body, making your skin prickle as it warmed up. 

You had to admit, even though your teeth were still clacking slightly and your hands felt stiff and swollen, it was one hell of a spell. It didn’t surprise you that the twins had learned it from Sirius; from the stories you’d been told, he, Lupin, Harry’s dad, and Peter Pettigrew had gotten into quite a bit of trouble when they went to Hogwarts. You couldn’t even imagine the amount of surprise George and Fred must’ve felt when they found out their brother’s best friend’s dad was one of the famed Marauders they so greatly revered. 

As you let the streaming water heat your body and relax your muscles, your mind turned to George. Of course it did. You grimaced as you thought about him refusing to say something nice to you. He’d been out in the cold winter morning, getting drenched with snow, and he’d still fought against saying anything even remotely kind to you. Bloody git, wasn’t he? 

Frustrating, annoying, smug git who drove you crazy in more ways than one. You groaned, feeling frustration biting at you as you turned off the shower and hopped out, steam rising from your body as you wrapped a towel around yourself. You really needed to talk to someone about George, to somehow make sense of your thoughts. Merlin knew you weren’t able to do that on your own. You’d tried. 

Once you got back to Hogwarts, you’d talk with Briar and Eva about it. As much as you loved Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry, they were just too close to the situation. Besides, there was no reason to tell Ron until you were sure of how you felt. He would just panic about it, and with school and Arthur and everything else, he didn’t need that. Not that it mattered if you  _ did _ feel something about George. He’d never feel the same. 

It would be incredibly foolish to think that you meant any more to George than the myriad of other girls he’d had short flings with. In fact, you likely meant far less than any of those girls. You were...you were there, you were convenient. 

Right? That’s why you were drawn to George. He was...he was there. That was it. Even though he’d been there for years and you’d never felt like this. 

Merlin, you were fucking terrible at reasoning with yourself, weren’t you? 

Opening the bathroom door, you walked to Ginny’s room, which was now empty. Setting down your sopping clothes, you pulled out a large dark green sweater and black jeans and the thickest socks you could find. 

“Gin, where-oh,” George stammered as he flung open Ginny’s bedroom door. 

Your hands flew your towel, making sure it was securely wrapped around you. “Merlin’s bloody pants, George! Ever heard of knocking?” You yelped. 

George’s ears flared pink as he scratched his head. “Uh, sorry, I-I thought that Ginny was-”

“She’s not,” you pointed out. “I just got out of the shower and she wasn’t in here. She’s probably downstairs.”

“Right,” George agreed, but he made no move to leave. It seemed like his eyes were glued to your face, as if he were trying his hardest not to look any lower. 

Good, you thought. You didn’t want him to look, anyways. 

You felt exposed, your wet hair dripping water onto the floor as the two of you stood there, looking at each other. All you wanted to do was get in some warm clothes and curl up in front of the fireplace, and George was just standing there in the open doorway. 

Desperate to get dressed, you said, “In or out, George. I need to get dressed. I’m still freezing.”

You hadn’t  _ meant _ for it to sound like an invitation to stay, but as it came out of your mouth, you flushed. It sounded like you’d just told him he could step in and watch you change. “I-I mean-” you stammered, your blush now matching George’s. 

“No, no, I-I know,” George replied hastily. “But, Scales…”

“What, George?” 

“It isn’t hard at all to think nice things about you,” He said hurriedly, before turning and shutting the door solidly behind him. 

Bloody hell. 

\-------

_ Stupid bloody git _ , you thought. Stupid bloody git who just had to go and say the most minimally romantic thing you’d ever heard and now you couldn’t stop thinking about it. What the bloody hell did he even  _ mean _ , saying that? 

It had put you in quite the mood, and you knew Ginny and Hermione could tell. Harry and Ron, being the sweet, oblivious boys that they were, were none the wiser, but your girl friends could tell. Ginny had been casting curious glances your way ever since you’d sat in front of the crackling fireplace, soaking in its delicious warmth. 

Those words, so simple and so...so  _ meaningless _ were anything but those things to you now. And here you were, the girl who prided herself in not getting caught up in such little details when it came to boys, obsessing over eleven words. Eleven words that had held no promises or declarations of love. Eleven words that, if said by anyone else, you would’ve perhaps just smiled or joked around about. 

But they were said by George, and that meant your mind latched onto them and would likely give you one hell of a time if you tried to move on from them. 

Just as you were about to turn to Ginny and ask if you could talk to her, Molly called out that it was time to exchange gifts before having a bit of brunch. Everyone piled into the living room, and you sat yourself right in front of the fireplace as the boys crowded the couch you’d previously been occupying. The heat felt amazing against your tired body, making you let out a content breath. 

Presents were a mess and a hurricane of wrapping paper, shouts of joy, and appreciation at the new things everyone had received. You’d gotten a new book about brooms and the history of Quidditch from Ginny, a gorgeous set of black quills from Hermione, a charmed stopwatch from Harry that showed not only the time of day, but the weather as well, and an incredible potion-making set from Ron. 

Your friends had done well with your gifts, and you gave all of them tight hugs and thanked them thoroughly. After the gifts were all open, you ran upstairs quickly to drop off your new belongings so you could help Molly set the table. You opened the door to Ginny’s room, and as you set your new things on your bed, you noticed a small red package that sat on your pillow. 

It was about the size of your palm, and hadn’t come with any label that told you who it was from. Curious, you undid the latch that bound it close and flipped open the lid. 

Letting out a quiet gasp, you stared in awe at the necklace that lay sparkling against the black cushion underneath it. It was a dainty piece of jewelry, the chain silver and thin, and the pendant…

Merlin’s beard, the pendant was a thing of beauty: a silver snake, the chain running through its mouth as though it was biting onto it, with each scale carved into the delicate metal, in a curved serpentine ‘s’ with two tiny emeralds for eyes. 

It was easily the prettiest piece of jewelry you’d ever seen. Gently, almost reverently, you draped it around your neck, shutting the clasp and letting it rest just below the hollow of your throat. You still had no clue who had given it to you, but you couldn’t resist wearing the work of art. 

You returned downstairs, a ghost of a pleased smile dusting your lips as you helped Molly set out plates and bring food to the table. Sometimes Ron griped about her not just using magic to do it, but you enjoyed helping Molly. You liked talking with her. 

Everyone crowded the table, sitting down noisily as jokes and conversation flowed quick and bubbly like a stream through a forest. This, you thought to yourself as you served yourself food, this was home to you. 

Ron nudged you as you started eating. “Oi, who’s the necklace from? Haven’t seen that one before, have I?”

You shook your head as you swallowed your bite. “Nah, mate, it’s new! Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Merlin,” Ginny said from your other side. “Who’d you have to get with to get that?” 

You pushed her, snorting loudly. “Oh, piss off. It was a gift. Didn’t say who from,” you informed them. 

“I like it,” Harry added in from across the table. 

You grinned at him. “Me too. Rather fitting gift, isn’t it? Since you all insist on calling me Scales.” 

“Or since you’re in Slytherin,” Ron said, making Ginny laugh. 

“Very astute observation, Ron,” Ginny told him. 

Ron glared at his younger sister, making Ginny laugh even louder. 

Throughout the meal and the card games and story-telling that followed, you couldn’t help fiddling with the delicate charm dangling from your necklace. Perhaps a snake was a bit cliche, but you almost loved it more for that. It was something that reminded you that perhaps your House wasn’t so ugly after all.

Perhaps your House could be beautiful. 

You thought it was. Sometimes, at least. You had always been the first to admit that there were utter dickheads in your House, and Slytherin was so deeply intertwined with blood purity that it was difficult at times to separate the two. 

But they were separate, or they should be. You wanted them to be. Your parents, while not as bad as the Malfoys or the Parkinsons, were still guilty of subscribing to those ideals at times. Slytherin was so much more than that, though. It was about being wicked brilliant and cunning and working hard and being so ambitious and charming that people couldn’t help but look up to you. 

You were proud of being Slytherin. It was impossible to admit more often than not, but deep down, you always were. 

Besides, if you weren’t Slytherin, you wouldn’t be you, would you? 

“Oi,” Harry said, catching your attention. “You alright?”

You nodded, resuming your meal. “Of course.”

“Good, because I think I figured out who’s coming to visit,” Harry told you. 

“Is it-”

Harry nodded, making your face lit up with a cheerful grin. It had been far too long since you’d seen Sirius and Remus. You’d be afraid at first, after you’d helped Harry save him, that once Sirius found out you were a Slytherin that he would hate you. 

When he had seen you wearing silver and green, however, he had immediately wrapped you up in one of the most unyielding, affectionate hugs you’d ever received. You’d been confused at first, until Harry had found out about Sirius’ brother. 

Regulus Black, Sirius’ younger brother, had been a Slytherin. Had died after switching sides and becoming a spy against Voldemort. Harry hadn’t gone into much detail, but you could tell that the subject had been incredibly sensitive to Sirius. 

He had seen some similarity in the two of you, then. You hadn’t seen much of Sirius since that time, but it had caused you to love Harry’s godfather even more. 

Molly had the boys clean the kitchen while she let you, Ginny, and Hermione relax, claiming it was part of their punishment for nearly freezing you all to death. Really, their prank hadn’t been too terrible, but Molly never missed a chance to dote on her girls. 

As they cleared the kitchen, the door swung open, and Remus Lupin stepped in, accompanied by a large black dog that immediately ran to Harry and jumped up on him. Harry laughed loudly, trying to push the dog away as he licked his face. You rushed into the kitchen from the living room to welcome the pair. 

Harry finally got the dog off of him, and magic rushed into the kitchen as the dog transformed into Sirius Black. Harry threw his arms around his godfather, and the man returned the embrace, ruffling his godson’s hair. Remus looked at the pair affectionately before turning his attention to you and hugging you gently.

“It’s so good to see you, Prof-Remus,” you told him excitedly. “You and Sirius been alright?”

Remus nodded, grinning slightly at your slip-up. “As okay as a werewolf and an escaped prisoner can be.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“How could I?” Remus asked, gesturing to his partner, who was greeting the rest of the room, his dark hair and long arms swinging wildly as he said his hellos. “Sirius keeps me on my toes. I think we’d both go insane if we didn’t crack a few jokes here and there.” 

“And you were careful getting here?” 

Remus rolled his eyes good-naturedly as Sirius came over to him, slinging an arm around his partner before saying, “You worry almost as much as Molly, you know that?”

“Shut it,” you told Sirius lightly. “What, I can’t worry about my favorite professor and his pet?”

“Oi!” Sirius exclaimed as Remus began shaking with laughter. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perhaps this chapter is my daddy issues coming to the surface, but we wont talk about that. still home sick and waiting for my test results, which is why im updating so soon, but i doubt any of you mind!

After everyone talked for a while and Molly forced Remus and Sirius to sit down and eat, scolding them that they were getting far too thin, everyone retired to the living room to bask in front of the fire. You were helping Molly clean up when Sirius pulled you upstairs into the room he and Remus were sharing. 

Sirius shut the door behind the two of you and enveloped you in a hug before you could even ask what he wanted to talk to you about. You returned his embrace with vigor, having missed such fatherly affection as you hadn’t seen your father since before the start of term. 

“I heard about your dream,” Sirius began as he pulled away from you, keeping his hands resting on your shoulders. “About yours and Harry’s. Dumbledore told me.”

“Ah, right,” you said. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because Dumbledore knows I’m a nosy prat and that when it comes to Harry, I’ll pester him until he gives in,” Sirius answered simply. “But I must say, I was rather surprised to hear that you’d had a similar experience.” 

You shrugged, doing your best to seem uncaring. “It came as quite the unpleasant surprise to me, too, believe me.”

Sirius nodded, sitting on the bed and patting the mattress. You sat next to him as he said, “And am I correct in assuming that you’re dealing with it about as well as Harry is?”

You snorted. “Something like that. We did talk about it, you know,” you told Sirius. “The night we arrived at the Burrow.”

“Well, that is a start,” Sirius admitted. “Better than bottling it up and never dealing with it at all, which is what my godson  _ normally _ does. Good on you for making him open up.”

You let out a loud laugh, making Sirius laugh as well. “That boy is something else, isn’t he? You would think asking for help would kill him with the way he acts.”

Sirius shook his head, suddenly sullen once more. “Too much like James in that way. Getting James to tell us what was wrong…” Sirius trailed off, clearly lost in the past. “But I didn’t bring you up here to talk about Harry.”

You raised a curious brow at Sirius, who waved his hand. “Nothing bad, I promise you. I guess...I guess I just wanted to check in. See how you were doing.”

A wave of affection rose in you at Sirius’ words. You’d never been as close to him as you were with Remus, but most of that was because you’d spent an entire year with the latter as your professor. 

“I’m alright,” you replied. “It...but Arthur is okay, so it’s fine, you know?”

Sirius sighed, as if you’d said something upsetting. “You remind me too much of...well, of someone I knew growing up. You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s not as if anyone would think any less of you for being upset. Even if your vision had been nothing more than a dream, it would be okay for you to have a hard time getting over it.”

“I guess…” you thought for a moment. How  _ did _ you feel? Upset, yes. Terrified, absolutely. But it wasn’t just the vision itself that had shaken you, and you knew that Sirius had probably guessed that. “I guess the worst thing is I have no clue why I even…I mean, what did I do? Harry’s had this sort of thing happen all the time and it’s never happened to me.”

“You did not do a single thing,” Sirius said sternly, making you look at him. His face was hard with determination as he spoke. “You can’t possibly think you did anything to  _ make _ this happen. That isn’t how it works.”

“Then how does it work?” You replied sharply. “One day I’m normal, and the next, I’m having a vision of my best friend’s father being brutally attacked, and-”  _ And I was enjoying it _ . “And it turns out it actually wasn’t a dream. Tell me, does that make sense to you?”

Sirius sighed again, rubbing his face. “No, it doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean it’s  _ your _ fault.”

You reached up, fiddling with the silver snake dangling from your neck. “Do you think...I mean…”

“No,” Sirius said firmly. “No. You are not to blame. No one blames you.”

“Do you...fuck,” you mumbled, trying to work out how to voice your question.

Sirius let out an amused huff at your foul language, making you swat his shoulder. “Sorry, I just forget you kids have quite the vocabulary. I think Harry would rather fall off his broomstick again than swear in front of me and Remus.”

You let out a soft chuckle and saw Sirius’ eyes drift down to your new jewelry. A knowing look came over his face. “Ah.”

“What?”

“You know, being a Slytherin means nothing other than the fact that you’re wicked brilliant and a bit scary at times,” Sirius told you. “It has nothing to do with anything else besides that.”

“Right, because you’re the expert on Slytherins, Mr. black sheep,” you mumbled. 

“Oi,” Sirius reprimanded, narrowing his eyes at you. “I’ll have you know that until I was eleven, everybody I knew was a Slytherin. I, being the rebel I am, was the first Gryffindor in the history of the most noble house of Black.”

“Right, and that makes me feel so much better,” you said. “Weren’t all of your family members-”

“That, my dear, is besides the point. Them being foul, bigoted arseholes wasn’t connected to them being in Slytherin. They would’ve been vindictive dickheads no matter what House they were sorted into,” Sirius said grimly. “Are you really trying to insinuate that the reason you had that dream was because you’re in Slytherin?”

You shrugged lightly, suddenly finding the crooked, warped floorboards beneath your feet rather interesting. “Is that really such a crazy thing to assume? It’s really the only reason I can think of.”

“You know, for being one of the brightest witches I’ve ever met, and one of the most level-headed, sometimes I wonder how someone doesn’t knock some sense into you sometimes,” Sirius observed.

You let out a noise of shock, but Sirius continued. “You don’t get to blame everything on being Slytherin. I’m not saying that to be harsh, but it’s true. There are a million possible reasons why you and Harry shared that vision. Just because you share a House with that flat-faced bastard doesn’t mean that you’re  _ connected _ to Voldemort. If that was the case, it would’ve happened way before your sixth year. I wish I knew the reason why it happened, but I know it isn’t simply because of your House.”

Though the rational part of your brain had known that, it still felt so relieving to hear it from someone else. You let a bit of tension drop from your shoulders as you let Sirius’ words sink in. 

“And,” Sirius added. “I know that it has become a habit for you to blame every terrible thing on your House. I...I was not innocent of suspecting the worst from Slytherins when I went to Hogwarts, and...well, those stories are probably better suited for another time. Molly would probably make me sleep outside if I told you some of the things we used to get up to,” Sirius reminisced. 

“And I know that some people, even in this very house, have only furthered your own prejudice for that part of yourself.”

Your face heated as you thought of Fred and George’s constant insults and insinuations about you and their nickname for you. 

“But you must understand that you being Slytherin is such an asset and such a good thing, not only for you, but for your friends as well,” Sirius continued. “I won’t pretend that there are some kids in your House that I’d very much like to cuff upside the head, and I won’t pretend like I didn’t do exactly that to their parents back in my day. As much as I don’t regret  _ those _ particular actions, I do...I do regret many things.”

Sirius’ voice was now softer, more full of sorrow, and you felt a sharp twinge in your gut as you understood exactly what he was referring to. 

“Sirius, you don’t-”

“No,” Sirius objected. “I do. You need to hear this, and I-I need to say it, so just grant this old man a moment of your attention, okay?”

You rolled your eyes when he called himself old, but nodded, guessing that Sirius likely needed to say whatever he was going to say as much as you needed to hear it. 

“I’m assuming that Harry told you about my- about Reggie,” Sirius said, his voice catching on his brother’s name. “Merlin, he hated when I called him that, you know. Hated when I called him anything other than Regulus once our mother...but anyway. He’s-he  _ was  _ a year younger than me, and before I went to Hogwarts, he and I were best friends. But...but once I was sorted into Gryffindor, my mother, that damn wretch, started feeding him all sorts of lies about me.”

Sirius closed his eyes as memories washed over him, and you saw the way his jaw clenched as he fought through the sadness. “And I...I let myself believe the shit everyone said about Slytherins. To be fair,” Sirius clarified, “there were quite a number of bloody vile and mean wankers, and they were terrible to us. Especially to Lily. Now, we weren’t angels to them either, but the things they did...our pranks were always childish, and maybe we took it too far at times, but they were downright horrid.

“Anyway, Reggie turned eleven, and of course, he was sorted into Slytherin. Mum was bloody proud as anything. I don’t think she ever stopped reminding me that even though I’d failed, her precious Reg hadn’t. I let...I let that prejudice get in the way. I let my own resentment get in the way and Reggie and I ended up enemies, especially after I got kicked out after our fifth year.”

You hadn’t known Sirius had been kicked out at such a young age, but you kept silent. Sirius ran his hands through his long hair, taking a second to sort his thoughts. 

“So I got kicked out, and Reggie continued being the perfect son he was, and I let that anger and resentment and separation consume me. I let it fuel every terrible thought I had, especially the ones about myself. I think…” Sirius laughed sadly. “I think I really hated Reg more than anything because he was everything I should’ve been. And when he turned sixteen, they marked him. I wasn’t surprised, not by a long shot, but I still spent the night I found out downing Firewhiskey like it was bloody water.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek as sadness welled up in your cheek and your nose started to burn with the beginning threat of tears.  _ Sixteen _ , you thought. He was still a bloody kid. That did seem to be the consistent factor, though, didn’t it? You were all just kids.

“Nearly gave myself bloody alcohol poisoning, you know,” Sirius chuckled, a bit brighter this time. “I’d never seen Remus, James, Peter, and Lily so angry. You would’ve thought I’d called them all the nastiest names I could think of instead of landing myself in the hospital wing for a week.

“So Reggie was marked, and I was angry. I was an angry kid anyway, mind you, but that only made it worse. I did things that I’m not proud of and I would’ve...but Remus stopped me. Bloody interfering git, that one,” he said fondly, making you smile. “And so the war went on, and Reg was spending more time with blokes that were filling his head with all sorts of Pureblood nonsense. I graduated and we all joined the war efforts the moment we left Hogwarts. We were so damn eager to help out.”

You knew the feeling. 

Sirius’ face drained of all humor and his next words came out quietly and with so much complete and utter regret and despair that you couldn’t help the tears that pricked your eyes. 

“We thought we were invincible. We thought nothing could touch us because we were young and strong and full of life, but then people started disappearing. People started dying. Muggleborns and blood traitors were attacked almost every day. It took me until that point, it took me a  _ year _ after graduating, to realize that this wasn’t some stupid House rivalry or some idiotic schoolyard fight. It was  _ war _ and we were losing,” Sirius recounted, with more dejection than you’d ever heard from the normally cheerful man. 

Sirius took a shaky breath, and you felt your heart crack. “And then I found out Reggie died. From the fucking Daily Prophet,” Sirius informed you bitterly. “I wasn’t even invited to the damn funeral. Even though he was a Death Eater, he was still my bloody brother.

“I spent...I spent  _ years _ resenting him. I spent years directing all my anger at him, because he was a Slytherin and because my parents actually loved him. It wasn’t until after I got out of Azkaban that I found out what that brilliant, brave git did. He...Merlin, he practically changed the tide of the damn war. Even now, somehow that prat is still helping us out. He had so many secrets and even I don’t know all of them yet,” Sirius admitted. 

My point is,” Sirius said, roughly wiping his face as he looked at you. “Reg was a Slytherin, and I abandoned him because of that. I spent so much time hating myself because if I had just  _ been _ there for him, he likely wouldn’t have died. Or maybe he would have, but I’ll never know. I failed him,” Sirius confessed, and you wanted to protest, but you held your tongue. “Regulus Black is one of the bravest people to fight in this war, and he was a Pureblood Slytherin. So don’t you  _ dare _ say that you being a Slytherin is somehow a mark against your character,” Sirius said sternly. “Without Reg, we wouldn’t be where we are.”

“Sirius, I had no idea,” you told him softly.

“You wouldn’t,” Sirius said simply. “Dear old Mum did her best to hide that he had been a spy for Dumbledore. Wouldn’t want  _ both _ her sons to sully the most noble and pure House of Black, would she?”

Sirius wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in for a tight hug, as he said, “You remind me so much of Reggie, once he got his head on straight. And...bloody hell, I will never stop blaming myself for not fighting more for him. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

You felt a warm tear slip down your face as your chest tightened with sharp love for Harry’s godfather. 

“Now, I’m saying you’re heading down the same path Reg was, and maybe I’m using you to help assuage the massive amount of crushing guilt I will always feel about him,” Sirius confessed, “but I refuse to make the same mistake again. Why do you think I was so bloody emotional when I found out you were a Slytherin?

“So don’t you, not even for a  _ moment _ , think that I’m going to stand by and let you hate yourself for being Slytherin, you understand me? You are bloody important and you are so damn strong and you are  _ needed _ . You are what that House is meant to be like. Don’t tell the others this,” Sirius said, lowering his voice as if he were about to tell you a secret, “but you were Remus’ favorite student, and even if I didn’t know you personally, that would be enough for me. That man is a bloody brilliant judge of character.”

You laughed, feeling a bit of pride bloom in you at Sirius’ confession. “Must’ve been having a bit of lapse when he met you, then,” you joked, nudging Sirius’ side. 

Sirius let out a noise of indignation as he widened his eyes at you. “Alright, I take it all back!”

“No, no!” You said, laughing. “C’mon, only joking!”

Sirius started laughing along with you, standing from the bed. “I think we’d keep you around just for a bit of a laugh even if you weren’t Ron’s best friend. Everyone downstairs is so damn serious all the bloody time,” Sirius told you as the two of you left the room. 

“Bloody unbelievable!” You responded. “You know, I’m so happy you and Remus came today. It was getting a bit dull here.”

Remus was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking like he was just about to head up. “Please, take him off my hands,” Remus said as Sirius pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “He’s been driving me up the wall, you know.” 

Sirius rolled his eyes affectionately, then looked at you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. “Remember what I said, alright? I meant every word of it.”

You nodded. “I will, I promise.” 

\-------

That night, long after everyone had fallen asleep, you laid in bed, still wide awake. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Sirius had told you. You’d known a few pieces of Regulus’ story, but none of the details that Sirius had revealed to you. The thought of it made your heart contract sorrowfully. 

Sirius had lost so much. Everyone had lost so much, but you knew that things were only just beginning again. Voldemort was back, and the attacks were starting again. Even at Hogwarts, the tension between Slytherin and the other Houses had skyrocketed, and you’d heard far too many slurs and insults being thrown at unsuspecting students. 

It had been so comforting to hear Sirius tell you about his brother and what he had done. It had been a long while since you had felt so  _ seen _ and so comforted. And really, you didn’t mind at all Sirius treating you like a chance to fix his mistakes with Regulus. You needed someone who was going to be in your corner like that. 

As much as you loved and trusted your friends, it was always “you’re good  _ despite _ being Slytherin,” and never “you’re good  _ because _ you’re Slytherin”. You wanted to be proud of your House, and you wanted others to add that characteristic to the list of reasons why they loved you, not to the list of things they loved you in spite of. 

You couldn’t imagine the despair Sirius felt concerning his brother. You’d be devastated if you lost your own, but Roland wasn’t like Regulus. It likely hurt Sirius far worse that he had lost his brother while they were still fighting and it probably had nearly broken him that they hadn’t been so different in the end. 

Deciding that there was no way you’d be able to sleep, you quietly left your bed and tiptoed out of your shared room and down the stairs, carefully avoiding the especially rickety step about halfway down. There was a soft light flickering in the kitchen, and you wondered who else could possibly be up at this hour like you were. 

Leaning against the counter, his face pale and his eyes shadowed with dark circles, Ron sipped half-heartedly at the steaming mug in his hand as George gently patted him on the back. They both looked as if they’d been woken suddenly from a deep sleep, because Ron’s hair was wild, and George had only an open zip-up with no shirt on underneath, like he hadn’t had time to grab one. 

His pajama pants, though covered in brooms and Quidditch hoops, were slung low on his hips. The pale expanse of skin that was shadowed by his hip bones leading into his waistband had your mind reeling and warmth awakening low in your stomach. You chastised yourself quickly, because clearly they were both upset, and now was  _ not _ the time to be thinking about the way George’s muscled torso flexed as he sighed. 

Ron looked up as you entered, his face filling with relief as he set his mug down and rushed over to you. Pulling you tightly against himself, he rested his chin on top of your head as you wrapped your arms around him. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, concerned. 

Ron didn’t reply, so you looked to George, who had a similar look to Ron’s as his brown eyes met yours. “Harry had a nightmare. He was shouting and screaming and Ron tried to wake him up, and Harry nearly bloody hexed him before he woke up fully.”

At your shocked expression, George said, “Sirius is sitting with him now. He’s okay. We just...just needed some fresh air, that’s all.”

“It was bloody awful,” Ron whispered. “He was screaming for Dad, saying ‘don’t k-’”

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “We don’t need to talk about it. Everything is okay. Arthur is home. Everyone is safe.”

Ron took a breath, and George looked away from you quickly. You felt a stinging hurt as he turned his gaze away.  _ He blamed you _ , your mind whispered. 

“I’m so sorry,” Ron told you.   
  


“What? Why?”

“Because I didn’t...I barely even checked up on you after...and-and I only heard Harry, but I can’t even imagine how-how fucking terrifying that must’ve been,” Ron stressed. 

“Ron, love, you cannot think like that,” you chastised softly, pulling back from your best friend and looking him sternly in the eye. “We were all shocked and scared and we were all struggling. I don’t blame you for not checking up on me more. Even if you had, I likely would’ve lied to you so that you could focus on yourself and on your family.”

Ron laughed sadly, sniffling. “You know, if you ever admitted you were struggling, I think I’d be more concerned about  _ that _ than what you were actually struggling with.”

You hit him gently, rolling your eyes as you stepped back. “Oi, shut it. I admit I’m struggling.”

Ron gave you an incredulous look. “I have!” You exclaimed.

“Alright, alright, whatever you say,” Ron assured you. “Want some tea?” 

You looked over at George, who was still avoiding your gaze like the plague. “No, that’s alright. I’ll let the two of you have some time.” 

“Oi,” Ron said suddenly. “We’re your family, too. Even if you don’t want to be, I think Mum loves you more than us sometimes.”

“Only because I like cooking and I help her clean,” you insisted, but his comment made you smile. “You lot are always running ‘round and making messes, including Ginny.”

Ron shook his head as he turned around and poured you a cup of tea despite your refusal. “Nah, you know that’s not it. She loves you, and once Mum gets attached to you, she doesn’t let go. You don’t really have a choice.”

“He’s right, you know,” George added from behind his brother. “Mum never stops going on about you sometimes.”

You were surprised that he addressed you so directly, but it set a flutter of nerves alight in your stomach. “Likely because she doesn’t have to get after me for tracking mud into the house all the bloody time,” you said jokingly. 

George narrowed his eyes at you, and you suddenly regretted your words until he said, “You just don’t get caught, Scales.”

“That’s the key,” you responded proudly. “Would’ve thought you’d know that one by now.” 

George rolled his eyes, but he didn’t seem genuinely irritated. Perhaps it was because it was so late and he was likely exhausted, but you certainly weren’t going to complain. 

You turned back to Ron, whose face had dropped once more. “Something bad is coming, isn’t it?” he asked softly. 

You bit your cheek, trying to keep your voice steady as you answered. 

“I think it’s already here.” 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovely readers! my test came back positive, but im on the mend and my quarantine ends tomorrow! also i know last chapter and this one have very little george and scales action but i promise its coming! enjoy <3

“Right, you lot,” Molly told you, Ron, and Harry as she entered the kitchen. “Upstairs with the rest of the children.”

“But Mum!” Ron protested. “We’re nearly of age!”

Molly narrowed her eyes at her son, who immediately slunk down in his chair. “Until the very  _ minute _ you turn seventeen, Ronald Weasley, you are underage, and you will be treated as such.”

“Mrs. Weasley, please, I want to help,” Harry told her. “If I have to deal with Voldemort the way I do, then it’s only right that I get to sit in on Order meetings!” 

Molly shook her head. “No, sorry, my dear. You’re underage as well. I won’t have you any more involved than you need to be. If I let you sit in, then I’d have to let all of you sit in.”

“But we’ve faced him more times than anyone has!” You argued. “That makes us more qualified to fight than all of the Order besides Dumbledore!”

Molly pursed her lips, resting her hands on her hips as she looked at the three of you, fiery conviction burning in her eyes. “You are  _ children _ . I will  _ not _ have you put yourselves in danger simply because you want to be  _ brave _ .”

“We already are in danger!” Harry objected. “Me more than anyone, besides maybe…” Harry’s green eyes flicked towards you quickly. “I need to know what’s going on so I can be safe! You won’t tell us anything! How is that keeping us safe?”

“He might be right, Molls,” Sirius said, appearing from the living room. “Harry’s gone face to face with Voldemort.”

“So that makes him qualified to fight, then?” Molly shot back.

Sirius shook his head. “No, but it makes him qualified to know what’s going on. I want him to stay out of this more than anyone, but he’s going to get dragged into it no matter what we tell him and what we keep from him. Shouldn’t we at least give him the advantage of being prepared?”

Harry smiled gratefully at his godfather, who nodded back, but didn’t smile. “Sirius is right-”

“No,” Molly cut Harry off. “No. You’re my son, too, Harry, and I will not have my children be put in danger.”

“You don’t get final say in what Harry does, Molly,” Sirius said calmly, but you could tell his temper was rising. 

“And you do?”

“I should. I should’ve had final say from the moment James and Lily-”

“But you didn’t! You don’t! You let the Dursleys take him and mistreat him, and-”

“Molly,” Remus said, joining Sirius and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Tension is high right now, so we’ll overlook your last words, but I’m going to warn you, in the calmest, and most friendly way possible. If you  _ ever _ ,” Remus told her, his voice dipping low and his eyes flashing gold, “speak to my partner that way again, the damage will be irreversible. I may suffer the things people, even within the Order, say about me in silence, but I will not allow anyone to slander Sirius, especially while I’m present. You should know that by now. It’s been that way since we were kids.”

Molly looked at Remus for a few moments before dipping her head stiffly. “My apologies, Sirius. Harry-”

“I know, Molls,” Sirius assured her, patting Remus’ hand that was on his shoulder. “And I cannot even begin to express how grateful that you have been here for Harry. There is no one that feels angrier about- about everything than me, believe me.”

Molly sighed, turning to Harry, who was looking rather uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Harry, my dear. We shouldn’t have argued like that in front of you.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry responded. 

“Perhaps, Harry, you should sit out for this meeting and we can discuss our options further afterwards?” Remus offered. 

Harry looked unsure, but he agreed. “Sure, Remus. I guess.”

“Good lad,” Remus smiled. “Now, the three of you get upstairs. We won’t be long.”

You didn’t want to go upstairs, but you didn’t want to seem like a child, so you followed Ron and Harry up. You joined the rest of your friends, who were all sitting in Ron’s room. Ron groaned as he walked in, grumbling about how it was always  _ his _ room they met up in. 

“Sorry, Ronald,” George said as the three of you sat. You did you best to sit as far from George as you could, but the only open spots were directly across from him on Ron’s bed, or beside Ginny, who was sitting next to him. You sat on the bed, trying to avoid looking at George as best you could. 

He hadn’t  _ done _ anything to make you want to avoid him- he’d spoken to you briefly the night before, but you hadn’t seen him at all today. It was just too complicated for you when he was around, and you had enough on your mind. 

“Our room is...not suitable for public viewing, and Ginny’s is crammed full with all the girls’ stuff,” George finished. “So your room it was.”

“They didn’t let you sit in, did they?” Hermione asked. 

Ron rolled his eyes at her even as his hand slid closer to hers across the floor they were both sitting on. “Obviously not,” he retorted. 

“It’s almost as if we  _ told _ you they weren’t going to let you,” Ginny said. “Mum even said Fred and George weren’t allowed, even though they’re of age.”

“Bloody stupid, that,” Fred griped. “We’re bloody adults!”

“Well, I think it’s wise of Molly,” Hermione piped up. “It isn’t safe, and we  _ are  _ still just kids.”

“She isn’t here. She can’t hear you,” Harry grumbled. 

You hid your laughter, not wanting to face Hermione’s wrath. Fiddling with your new necklace, which you hadn’t taken off since you got it, you said, “We’ve faced Voldemort more times than they have. Why can’t we help? We’ve already done more to fight against him, really. Especially Harry.”

“You’re too eager to grow up,” Fred said. “We want to be involved just as much as you lot do, but we’re still kids. We still go to Hogwarts. Why can’t you just enjoy being a kid while it lasts?”

Because, you thought, we’ve already already had to give up more than any other kid has to. Especially Harry. 

It dawned on you, horribly, that you weren’t sure if Harry had ever been able to feel like a kid. From what he’d told you about the Dursleys, they’d treated him more like a servant than a nephew, and every year of Hogwarts, he’d had to fight off Voldemort in some form or another. 

Your stomach lurched at that, and you decided Fred was right, so you said as much. Ron looked at you, surprised, and you shrugged. “Our time to be stupid kids is running out. Might as well take advantage of it.” 

\-------

After the Order meeting ended, and you were finally permitted back downstairs, you hung back a moment while everyone else filed out of Ron’s room. Ron noticed you not moving to leave, and he looked at you with concern. “Everything alright?”

You nodded. “Yeah, of course. Just...can I talk to you?” You missed Ron and you wanted to talk to him about your feelings towards George, because even though Ron may be entirely oblivious to romance when it was directed at him, he’d offered you some rather decent advice in the past. 

“Of course,” Ron said, sitting by you on his bed. “What’s up?”

“It’s...oh, bloody hell,” you groaned. “I’ve got feelings for someone. Or, at least, I’m  _ pretty _ sure I do. I’ve no idea. It’s confusing.” 

Ron laughed, smiling at your predicament. “So you  _ really _ like them, then, don’t you? You’re never confused unless you really like someone.”

“That isn’t true!”

“It definitely is!” Ron argued. “If you only have a small crush, you’re always sure and you always go for it right away. But a big crush? You agonize over it for  _ days _ , you know.”

Bloody hell, he was right. That didn’t bode well for you, did it? “But that makes it worse!”

“Why?” Ron asked. 

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “ _ Because _ , it can’t happen. I don’t even  _ want _ it to happen!”

Ron looked at you like you were mad. “You don’t want it to happen? Why the hell not?”

“I just...I don’t,” you sighed. “It just can’t work out.” You had thought about it more ways than you’d like to admit, but you hadn’t been able to find a scenario so far where you and George could even get along long enough to talk about your feelings, and throwing Ron’s feelings into the mix was a whole other situation altogether. 

“Do I know this person?” Ron asked. Your heart skipped a beat but you kept calm. 

“Erm, yeah, I’d say so,” you admitted. “But...I’d just like to keep it a secret for now, if that’s okay.”

Ron looked at you kindly, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Of course it is! And you know I’m here whenever you want to talk about it. I do want to add, though, that any person who doesn’t want to be with you is a right bloody idiot.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “I dunno about that.”

“I do,” Ron said confidently. “C’mon, I’m starving. Are you gonna be okay?”

You nodded, standing with Ron. “Yeah, of course. Thanks, Ron.”

“So you’re not going to tell me  _ anything _ about this mystery person?” Ron asked as the two of you left his room and went downstairs. You contemplated it for a moment; surely telling Ron a  _ few _ things about George wouldn’t give it away. 

“They’re...merlin, I don’t even know. Funny, but a bit showy, and they’re not afraid to give me shit, which, for some weird reason, I kind of like. They’re smart, even if they pretend not to be, and their smile…” 

You trailed off as you reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Fred and George talking animatedly with Sirius. George was grinning broadly, and Sirius was laughing at something he’d just said, a hand on his side as he bent over with amusement. 

“Their smile is so  _ bright _ but I’m never really the one who makes them smile, and I kind of hate that,” you confided to Ron. “Is it dumb I want to be the reason they smile? I feel...ugh,  _ jealous _ , as much as I hate to admit it. Every time someone else makes them laugh, it makes me...it makes me upset because I know I’m not that person to them, if that makes sense.”

Ron raised his eyebrows at you. “Merlin, this is worse than I thought! So you  _ really _ , really like them, then?”

You nodded sorrowfully, watching George tell Sirius something that made Sirius’ eyes go wide with excitement. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. I hate it.” 

“Do you think it’s the same person who gave you the necklace?” Ron asked as you joined the group in the kitchen. 

“What necklace?” Fred asked, ever the noisy git that he was. Heat crept up your neck as you realized you were messing with the serpent pendant again. 

Quickly dropping it, you answered, “Um, someone gave me a necklace for Christmas.”

Fred studied your necklace, and George leaned in to do so as well. George’s proximity made heat coil in your abdomen. “Oi, that is quite the piece, isn’t it, Georgie?”

“Rather fancy, Freddy. And of course it’s a snake! A perfect gift for our Scales, isn’t it?” George answered. “A little snake for our resident snake.”

The phrase  _ our Scales _ caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach, but you did your best to push down those feelings and not pay any attention to them. Instead, you focused on the irritation that arose at George’s comment that had followed. “So what if it’s a snake? I happen to really like it, thank you very much,” you told them firmly. 

“Woah, Scales, we didn’t mean to offend you,” Fred said, lifting his hands in surrender. “Just a fitting gift for you, that’s all. Who gave it to you?”

“No clue,” you answered. “It was just on my pillow Christmas day after we opened gifts. There wasn’t a tag or anything.”

“Scales has a secret admirer!” Fred called out. “Isn’t that something!”

George huffed. “It doesn’t mean she has a bloody secret admirer, Fred. Don’t be daft. It was probably someone who just forgot to give it to her before she left Hogwarts. Maybe one of her little green friends sent it here.”

You turned to George, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked at him disapprovingly. “Maybe I do. It’s not such a wild idea, you know.” You almost added that  _ he _ told you he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you, but you held your tongue. It would’ve been  _ so _ good, though, to see the shock on Fred, Sirius, and Ron’s faces. 

George’s eyes flashed with warning and you knew he knew exactly what you were thinking.  _ See _ , you thought.  _ This is why it could never work out _ . You tucked the necklace under the hem of your sweater, hiding it from the prying eyes of your company. “What are you three talking about, anyways?”

“Just a few ideas for...school,” Sirius told you unconvincingly. “Help with NEWTS and all that.”

“Right,” you said disbelievingly. “Couldn’t have anything to do with-”

“Who’s hungry!” Fred interrupted, stopping you from mentioning the trunk you’d see Fred and George with at the beginning of the year. “Personally, I’m rather famished? How ‘bout you, Georgie?”

“Starving!” George told him, and they darted off to the kitchen before you could try and reveal their secret. You had no idea what they were really working on, but if Sirius was in on it, it was surely something big and incredibly rule-breaking. Honestly, you found yourself looking forward to it a bit. Hogwarts was becoming increasingly dull before Christmas as Umbridge continued to clamp down on anything worth doing. 

You and Ron looked at Sirius, who was looking rather like a dog who had just chewed up your shoes. “What?”

You laughed softly, grinning at Sirius. “Glad you’re here, Sirius, you know that?”

“So you really don’t know who the necklace is from?” Sirius asked, and you shook your head. George was probably right; it probably was from Eva or Briar. It seemed like something they would get you.

“No, but like George said, it’s probably from one of my friends in Slytherin,” you said. 

Sirius thought for a moment. “I think I’d keep an open mind on that one. Speaking of secret admirers, though, how’s the love life?” Sirius asked, and you laughed. Sirius was always wanting to hear any details he could of all of your lives; he had little by way of entertainment while he and Remus were in hiding. 

Eager to move the attention from you, you nudged Ron, who was groaning. “This one’s got a bit of a crush on a certain friend of the Chosen One, believe it or not. A bit of a mess, if you ask me. They refuse to admit it so far.”

“I’m sure that came as such a surprise to all of you,” Sirius said sarcastically, and you snorted. 

“Oi!” Ron objected. 

“He isn’t wrong, you know. It’s been clear it was always going to be the two of you, you know. It’s good, though, Ron,” you assured him. “You’ll figure it out.”

“You’re one to talk,” Ron shot back. “Do we need to discuss what’s been happening with you and George?”

Sirius choked on the sip of tea he had just taken. “Pardon? You and  _ who _ ?”

You glared at Ron, though you supposed it was fair play. “Me and  _ no one _ , because there’s nothing going on. We just...snogged, that’s all.”

“Twice!”

You smacked Ron on the arm, making Sirius laugh loudly. “Bloody hell, I’ve missed you kids! Remus is always just reading, you know. Never wants to have any  _ fun _ . But you and George? I must say, I did not see that coming.”

“There is no me and George,” you groaned. “The first time was entirely accidental. You know how strong the punch on All Hallows’ Eve gets.”

Sirius nodded, smiling wistfully. “Who do you think started that tradition?”

Why did that not surprise you at all? “And the second time was a dare, which we had no control over. Snogging means nothing! Sirius, tell him.”

“Right, it means nothing,” Sirius nodded. “The first time, anyways. The second, though…”

You glared at Sirius, who returned your look. “Don’t you have a bone to bury or your tail to chase?” 

“If dog jokes are all you can think of, maybe you  _ should _ be spending more time with George,” Sirius joked, ruffling your hair. “But really, George isn’t so bad.”

“Unless you’re in Slytherin,” you grumbled. “None of you would know, though, would you?” 

“They are pretty massive gits to her, you know,” Ron informed Sirius. “George  _ and _ Fred. They pick on her more than they pick on  _ me _ , and that’s saying something.”

Sirius sipped his tea, cupping the steaming mug with two tattooed hands. “All I’m hearing is an excuse, really. If you like snogging him, snog him! What’s the big deal?”

“Merlin, I cannot believe my friend’s  _ godfather _ is telling me to snog someone,” you muttered. 

Sirius spluttered in indignation. “Oi, just because I’m Harry’s godfather does  _ not _ mean I’m old! Besides, that’s how Remus and I got together. Couple of snogs here and there, a couple of chocolate bars, and suddenly, I’ve got that werewolf wrapped around my finger! You should’ve seen the look of shock on James’ face when he found out his two best friends were shacking up.”

“Why are you lying to them, Sirius?” Remus asked as he walked over to join you. “You know that isn’t how it happened. You were pining after me for  _ years _ , if I recall correctly.”

“Well, you don’t, because that isn’t true! You were pining;  _ I _ was off-- well, doing other things,” Sirius chuckled nervously. “But the point  _ is _ , the first kiss doesn’t mean anything, right? It’s the second one that complicates things.”

Remus nodded, taking Sirius’ mug from him and sipping the tea before shoving it back into his partner’s hands. “I hate to admit it, but he’s right. You both are far too young to be kissing, though, aren’t you?”

“They’re both sixth years,” Sirius pointed out. “I believe your first kiss was before fifth year, wasn’t it?”

Remus waved a scarred hand dismissively. “That is besides the point. You lot definitely should  _ not _ be kissing anyone.”

“Your godson has been,” you told them, looking over at where Harry and Ginny were sitting closely on the old, overstuffed couch. 

“Well, he  _ is _ the Chosen One! Bet he has a hard time fending off the ladies,” Sirius said proudly, making Remus sigh softly. “He wouldn’t be my godson if he didn’t take advantage of that!” 

“Well, the fact of the matter is, I will not be doing any more kissing for the foreseeable future, especially with a certain redhead, so shall we just move on? I’ve been itching to get out and play Quidditch with you,” you told Sirius, knowing that that would effectively distract him from the topic at hand. “I want to see if you’re really as good as you always claim to be.”

“Doubting my flying skills, are you?” Sirius asked. “You are in for an ass-kicking of epic proportions, lady!”

Remus sighed once more, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have said that, you know. Now he’s going to--Merlin’s beard,” Remus said affectionately, watching as Sirius ran over to Harry to pull him into the game of Quidditch you’d challenged Sirius to. “Be safe, please, and watch him. He may act young, but he’s been getting grey hairs and everything lately.”

“We will be!” 

You and Ron followed Sirius, Ginny, and Harry, who were rushing out of the Burrow and towards the shed where the Weasleys kept their brooms. Fred and George weren’t far behind, making seven. Pulling the Quidditch things out, you remembered the last time you’d been out here, and the way George had so casually tossed you over his shoulder, the way his hands had grazed your hips and thighs…

Scolding yourself, you tugged out the broom you usually rode, and listened as Sirius divided up teams. “Right, so George, Ginny, and you,” Sirius said to you. “And Harry, Ron, Fred, and I will be the other team.”

“You and Harry can’t play together!” George protested. 

Sirius rolled his eyes, but conceded. “Fine, Harry, you go with them, and Ron, Fred, and I will  _ still _ beat the four of you.” 

“In your dreams, old man!” Harry shouted as he kicked off, soaring upwards with the Quaffle in hand. “C’mon, let’s get started!” 

You shot up, the cold winter wind stinging your cheeks and hands as you tore through the air. The rest of the group followed, and your team decided that you’d trade off being Keeper whenever Sirius’ team got too close to your goal. You and George were Chasers, as always, and Harry and Ginny were Beaters. 

The match began, and you had to admit, Sirius was one hell of a flyer. The broom seemed to just be an extension of his body, and the way he dodged and rolled was even more impressive when you thought about the fact that he’d had twelve years of no practice after Hogwarts. 

Unfortunately, George and you were one hell of a match, and quickly, your team was up by three goals. Fred was doing his best to knock you and George off your brooms, and every time Sirius got the Quaffle, he was practically a blur of black clothes as he shot towards your team’s goal. Sirius’ team got a few scores in before your team finally hit ten goals, which is what you normally played to at the Weasleys. 

You and George had been working in tandem much like the last time, and it still kind of shocked you, even though you knew by now how well the two of you worked together during Quidditch. Why did you have to be such good teammates? It was as if every part of your life was shoving you towards him, and you were trying desperately to dig your heels into the ground and stop it. 

Fred and Ron had been good Beaters, as always, and Sirius had shown you that maybe you’d underestimated his skill. 

Okay, you’d  _ really  _ underestimated him. Even though he was in his thirties, and his body had been through hell and back in Azkaban, Sirius still had more talent than any player you’d ever seen at Hogwarts. It was no wonder Sirius held so many records at Hogwarts; you’d never doubted him, but you’d never seen exactly  _ why _ . 

Everyone was smiling as they landed. You all had matching red noses and rosy cheeks, but the cold barely seemed to bother you as Sirius threw an arm around Harry and hugged him tightly, ruffling his hair that Sirius said reminded him of James’ so often. “See? This old dog still has quite a few tricks left! Bloody hell, I’ve missed playing! Shall we go again?” 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i know this chapter is late and quite honestly its kind of shit but ive been dealing with some really bad mental health issues so i hope that kind of excuses it! its just been difficult to write, even though i adore this story and it normally only takes me a day to write all ten pages. again im so so sorry and i know its kind of a filler chapter, but i swear the next one wont be! thank you all for your sweet comments and support i adore you all <3 (also if u like the marauders i just posted the first chapter of a wolfstar fic on here!)

After reluctant goodbyes to Remus and Sirius, who once again had to go into hiding, the six of you left for King’s Cross. The holiday was coming to an end, and you hadn’t wanted to leave the comfort of the Burrow, nor had you wanted to leave Sirius and Remus. You didn’t know when you’d be able to see them again, and you’d grown incredibly close to Sirius this visit. His story of his younger brother was constantly on your mind, especially every time you saw your reflection and the serpent hanging from your neck. 

George hadn’t spoken to you in days, and you found yourself feeling restless and irritated because of it, which was funny, because that’s exactly how you felt when he _did_ speak to you. You couldn’t make up your mind, though, to be honest, you had purposely stopped yourself from thinking about it too much. You’d come to understand that there was never going to be anything between the two of you beyond a few drunk makeouts, and that was fine with you. 

At least, it would be if you just kept telling yourself that it would. 

The night before, you’d nearly lost your mind when you’d run into George right as he stepped out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. The sight of his bare chest had made you so flushed you’d contemplated dashing outside and submerging yourself in the frosty snow banks lining the Burrow. You’d barely been able to choke out a hasty, half-incomprehensible apology before darting away as fast as you could. 

George’s bare, toned chest had apparently been permanently seared into your brain, because you couldn’t get it out of your head. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering back to that moment, but in your head…

Merlin, in your head it had ended much differently. Instead of running away, you could’ve stayed, could’ve pushed him back into the bathroom, the air still steamy with heat, and shown George exactly how much you appreciated the sight of him shirtless. Yes, okay, you wanted...shite, you wanted to go so much further with George than you had. 

And that was it. If you kept it purely physical, you could handle that, right? 

“So you still haven’t figured out the necklace?” Ginny asked from beside you as your group entered King’s Cross. 

“Like I said, haven’t the foggiest,” you told her. “I’m sure it was Eva or Briar, though. Or something like that.” You weren’t sure, though. Eva and Briar were wonderful gift-givers, but you didn’t think it was them. Besides, why would they send something to the Burrow for you without a tag when they knew you’d be coming back to school eventually? 

Secretly, _so_ secretly, you hoped it was from a secret admirer. Like, _really_. Who wouldn’t want that to happen at least once in their life? You didn’t entirely subscribe to a lot of things concerning romance, but was it so wrong for you to want to be desired? Not even that, really, but for you to want someone to have a bloody crush on you? It was childish, but you’d always relished those who always had a trail of people falling for them wherever they went. 

“Why do you wear it all the time, then? You haven’t taken it off since you got it,” Fred asked, trying to fit all his belongings onto a cart so that he didn’t have to carry his trunks. 

You shrugged. “It’s pretty, and I like it. What, I can’t like a piece of jewelry?”

“You think it’s pretty?” George repeated, helping Fred stack his trunks. You looked at him quickly, your heart skipping a beat when you met his eyes. 

_Damn those brown eyes_. 

He was wearing a stupidly wonderful shade of grey that made his eyes and hair both stand out, and his freckles seemed more pronounced than usual. If that wasn’t bad enough, though, he’d suddenly decided now was the time to darken his wardrobe, so instead of his usual worn blue jeans, he was wearing black jeans that fit him better than any pair of pants _you’d_ ever owned. You were strangely jealous. And slightly hypnotized by the way the jeans hung on his hips, because after running into him outside of the bathroom, you couldn’t stop thinking about his body. You were like a damn teenaged boy; it was borderline pathetic, really. 

“Yes, I do,” you answered stiffly. You felt defensive of the necklace, but you couldn’t quite figure out why. “Why? Have you somehow found a way to be angry about that? It’s just a damn necklace. Just because it’s a snake-”

“I’m not angry! Why do you always think I’m angry at you?”

“Because you’re either angry at me or making fun of me, if you’re even bothering to talk to me at all!” He _was_ usually one of those things, even when he’d kissed you in the bathroom. You hadn’t minded it so much then, though. That might’ve had more to do with the fact that his hands had been so wonderfully tangled in your hair, to be fair. 

You hadn’t really meant to add that last part, but there it was. You willed your face not to flush as George blinked with shock. The rest of the group had quieted, their full attention now bouncing between you and George. You waited for George to say something, because you’d clamped your lips shut and would _not_ be saying anything else stupid. 

“I’m not angry,” George said again, this time less harshly. 

“Oh, well...okay, then,” you replied dumbly. You felt embarrassed. Perhaps you’d over reacted a bit, but your feelings towards George had been doing nothing but building up. You really were lucky, quite frankly, that your outburst wasn’t worse. George looked at you, just _looked_ , and you couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all, but you wanted to know. You kind of liked hearing what George had to say, even when it was something bad about you. Maybe you just liked his voice. 

Ginny looked between the two of you with her brows raised. “Right. Moving on from that little performance.”

You wanted to elbow her, but you didn’t want to give yourself away. You didn’t have feelings for George, so her comment didn’t bother you. Everyone made their way to the brick wall between platforms nine and ten, and one by one, you all pushed through, making sure no Muggles were watching as you did. 

Platform 9 ¾ was already packed as you’d arrived a bit later than you normally did, and Fred and George split off to find Jordan and Angelina. You watched George go with a strange tug in your chest, like you didn’t want him to leave. It was probably just because you’d just spent over two weeks with him, though. You were just used to him being around. 

Ginny went off to find her younger friends, leaving you, Ron, Hermione, and Harry to find a seat on the train. You didn’t miss the way Ron offered to lift Hermione’s trunk for her, and you definitely didn’t miss the way she blushed as he did. You wanted that, you realized. That tentative, shy flirtation. Relationships had never been your preference, mostly because you wanted to focus on school and Quidditch, but apparently your feelings had changed recently. 

Ron and Hermione sat on one side of the compartment, and you and Harry on the other. You leaned your head on Harry’s shoulder, and he leaned his own against yours. Sighing softly, you watched with a hidden grin as Hermione and Ron’s hands snuck closer together as the train left London and entered the grassy plains and open skies of Scotland. 

\-------

You had to admit, getting back to school and to normal life was a bit of an adjustment after what happened with Arthur. Sitting in the Slytherin common room, your stomach full from dinner an hour before, you felt slightly out of place. Everyone seemed relaxed, if a bit reluctant to return to school. You, however, still felt a bit tightly strung, like you were waiting for another bad thing to happen. 

Eva and Briar entered the common room, and you stood up as they rushed over to you. They pulled you into a massive hug that had your ribs groaning. “I missed you, too,” you laughed. You pulled back from them, unable to keep the large smile that was inching its way across your face from spreading. 

“We were so worried about you. I mean, first we hear you screaming like you’re getting _murdered_ in your dorm and then Snape shows up in the middle of the night and drags you off, and the next thing we know, you’re just gone!” Eva recounted. 

You looked at them, noticing the apprehension and worry in their faces even as they tried to hide it. “And everyone knows what happened, don’t they?”

Briar sighed and nodded slowly. “Everyone knew by the next morning. Just that the Weasleys’ dad was attacked, though. No details, or anything.”

_Good_. That made you feel a bit relieved. “Yeah, it was...a lot. Scary, you know?”

Eva and Briar both nodded. “Sure, of course. Are you okay? Is he?” Eva asked. 

“Yeah, thankfully they got him to St. Mungos in time. He was a right mess when he came home, but he’s doing okay. He was cheery and everything. If he hadn’t looked like a mummy with how many bandages were wrapped around him, you would’ve thought he’d just had a late night at work.” 

“And...can I...that night, why were you…” Eva started tentatively. 

“Screaming my bloody head off?” Eva nodded. “A bad dream, that’s all. It just happened to be the same night, I guess. Just my luck, isn’t it?” It _had_ been a bad dream, but something was telling you not to tell them the entire story. You weren’t exactly sure _why_. Besides Ron, you trusted the two girls in front of you more than you trusted anyone. 

Both Eva and Briar’s mothers worked at the Ministry with your parents. Perhaps that was why you were reluctant to share the strange details of your dream. You weren’t sure if you wanted anyone in the Ministry catching wind that some random Slytherin girl was also having visions of Voldemort like Harry was. Besides, from the little you’d overheard from Remus and Molly one night, there were people in the Ministry that definitely weren’t trustworthy in the slightest. 

“Well, what a shitty coincidence,” Briar lamented. “But seriously, you’re okay? If you aren’t, you can tell us. I can’t imagine how terrifying that must’ve been.”

“I really am okay,” you assured them. “I wasn’t at first, but being at the Burrow was good, I think. It helped a lot.”

“Okay, now that that’s out of the way, where the hell did you get that necklace?” Eva asked excitedly, gesturing to the serpent hanging around your neck. “I mean, _merlin_ , that’s gorgeous!” 

“You mean it wasn’t from one of you?”

They both shook their heads. “We have gifts for you, don’t worry, but we just figured we’d wait to give them to you until we saw you,” Eva said. “So wait, you don’t know who it’s from, then?”

You really didn’t. “No, not a bloody clue, I guess,” you replied. “It just was on my pillow Christmas morning. In a little red box and everything.”

“No note?” Briar asked. You nodded in confirmation. “Well, shite, that’s a right nice necklace. Must’ve been expensive, don’t you think?”

“You think so?” You fiddled with the silver serpent, examining the intricate details engraved into the snake. “I can’t imagine who would spend any decent amount of money on me beyond you guys and Dorian.”

“Oh my god! Oh my god,” Eva exclaimed. “You’ve got a bloody secret admirer! You _so_ do. You totally do. And I don’t blame them. You’re bloody gorgeous! Who wouldn’t fall in love with you?”

Heat crept up the back of your neck and you shifted in the black leather armchair you were sitting in. You hadn’t wanted to jump to that conclusion, but it really was the most logical one, wasn’t it? “I dunno. I mean...maybe? I’ve no clue who it would be, though. Or how they’d get the necklace to the Burrow. It’s got wards around it, especially after Arthur was attacked.” Sirius and Remus had helped Molly and some of the other Order members throw up new enchantments around the Burrow, making sure that only a handful of people could even get into the house at all. 

“There’s certainly a long list of people who’ve got massive crushes on you, so it’s just a matter of narrowing it down.” Eva thought for a moment, then looked at Briar, then back at you, smiling proudly. “I know who it is!”

“Oh, come off it! There’s no way you can be so sure already.”

“I am!” Eva protested. “I swear it! He’s the only person who makes sense!”

Suddenly, your stomach dropped and you knew exactly who Eva was alluding to. “No! No. You’re bloody mental if you _actually_ think-”

“It’s George! It _has_ to be!” Eva declared. “Seriously, come _on_. He was at the Burrow with you, the two of you have already kissed once-”

“Twice,” you mumbled. 

“Wh-Twice?! Okay, we’ll come back to _that_ later,” Eva promised. “And George was all weird after Halloween, wasn’t he? I mean, stranger than he normally is to you.”

A feeling of elated hope erupted in your stomach, making adrenaline course through you at the thought. It felt like there was both _no way_ it was George and that he was also the only rational option. Okay, definitely not rational, because nothing about the new twists and events in your relationship with him were rational _or_ normal, but still. 

“Okay, but you’re forgetting the part where George doesn’t like me at all,” you pointed out. “He didn’t say a single word to me the last three days we were at the Burrow.”

“And before that?” Briar questioned. 

“Before that,” you sighed. “Right, I guess we’ll get into it. We kissed the night before Christmas Eve, on a _dare_ , not because he wanted to,” you clarified at your friends’ excited expressions. “Christmas Eve, Hermione, Ginny, and I threw loads of snowballs at the boys, so they got upset and George threw me over his shoulder so I couldn’t run away and they made it so a little snow cloud followed us everywhere for about ten minutes and it was like the really wet, sticky snow, you know?”

“He threw you over his _shoulder_?” Briar asked. “Like, willingly?”

“Yes, but just so I couldn’t run away,” you objected. “Nothing to do with feelings, I assure you. Um, and then, uh, to get him to reverse the snowcloud hex, I kind of sat on top of him and told him he had to say a nice thing about me or I’d stay there and he’d get all cold and wet because of the cloud above my head-”

“You _sat_ on him? And he didn’t push you off?” Eva repeated. 

You groaned. “You missed the part where I told him he had to say something _nice_ about me before I’d get off and he wouldn’t. And then after it was all over, I went upstairs to take a shower because I was bloody freezing and he walked in on me in a fucking towel in Ginny’s room! Didn’t even fucking knock or anything!”

Eva and Briar both gaped at you, like you’d said something rather insane. “What?”

“I love you, and you’re smarter than any fucking person I’ve ever met, but you’re stupid, you know that?” Eva told you. 

“Oi! How the hell am I stupid?” 

“I don’t know George half as well as you do, but if he were any other boy, I’d swear he was in love with you,” Eva said. “Did he say anything when he walked in on you?”

“Ah, yeah, um…” you paused, remembering the way it felt having him stand there, his cheeks red and his ginger hair mussed and wet. “He said, ‘It isn’t hard at all to think nice things about you.’ I mean, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, call me mad, but I think it means that he thinks nice things about you, probably all the time,” Briar said plainly. “I mean, come on! What else could he have _possibly_ meant?”

You flushed, picking at your nails nervously. “I dunno, I mean...I dunno! It’s all so bloody confusing. _He’s_ bloody confusing. Telling me he’ll go mad if he doesn’t kiss me right then and there and then acting like he can’t stand me afterwards,” you grumbled. 

“He said that?” Eva asked. “My _god_ , I think I’m falling for him, too!”

Briar shot a sharp look at Eva, who rolled her eyes. The exchange was quick, but you caught it nevertheless and you weren’t really sure why Briar would bristle at that comment. “Well, it’s-it’s not that simple, you know? Sure, he liked kissing me, but those little moments are just that. _Little_. Little and rare and I bet he’s just...just playing a game or something.” 

“Would someone buy you such a nice necklace just to _play a game_ ?” Eva asked. “Just accept it! I know you want to. I know the very _thought_ of your ginger boy makes your heart race.”

“He’s not _my ginger boy_ ,” you objected, even as your stomach did jump at the mere mention of him. It annoyed you, just for the record. _He_ annoyed you. Why couldn’t you just feel one way or the other about him? Your feelings had never been this complicated in your entire life, and you told Briar and Eva just that. 

“Maybe that just means it’s different this time,” Briar suggested. “Maybe it’s hard because you’ve finally found a person you’d actually like to be with, and that’s new for you. And that isn’t a bad thing! It’s just new, that’s all.”

You sighed, leaning back into the chair. Your friends were likely right (they usually were, even though you wouldn’t ever readily admit that) but it still didn’t mean you _liked_ it. You were still baffled by the fact that you could have feelings for George at _all_. Any feelings that weren’t in the annoyance-anger-irritation family concerning George had been non-existent until this year. 

“Well, no matter how I feel, nothing can happen. Nothing _will_ happen,” you told them confidently. “It’s not that I don’t...it just won’t. George would never- he barely-” Never mind the fact that you _did_ want something to happen. At least. You thought you did. Maybe? But you were as much of a stranger to your own feelings lately as any random person you passed on the street. 

Eva silenced you with a look that reminded you scarily of Molly when someone didn’t finish their dinner. “I love you, but if you keep making excuses and shooting yourself in the foot before you even give your feelings a chance, I’m going to hex you.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Fine, okay? I’ll... _think_ about my feelings more, as terrible as that sounds. But that’s all I’m going to do for now.”

Eva nodded. “Fine by me! Now, time for gifts, yes?”

\-------

Briar had gotten you a stunning leather-bound book that lit up in the dark so you could read at night without turning any lights on, and Eva had gotten you a new pair of Doc Martens that you loved and refused to change out of. You’d found Dorian and Bram after exchanging gifts and said your hellos to them. They, being the darlings that they were, asking you how you were, and you assured them you were okay. 

And you _were_ , or at least you were getting there. 

Dorian made you promise you’d go flying with him the next day before he’d let you leave, and you told him you swore you would. Bram seemed quieter than usual, and after flashing a concerned look to Dorian, who shook his head, telling you to leave it, you did. Bram got into these moods sometimes, and really never wanted to talk about them. You’d learned over the years just to let them pass, but you gave Bram an extra tight hug when you left. Going home was hard for him. You understood.

The next morning, classes were back, and you had a hard time pulling yourself out of bed at the early hour of seven when you’d gotten so blissfully used to waking up whenever you’d pleased the past two and a half weeks. Your dorm was cold as you changed quickly into your uniform and new boots, and you cursed yourself for not remembering to light a fire the night before. 

Breakfast was a wonderfully quiet affair, as it seemed everyone else was also not entirely excited to adjust back to an early schedule. As you sat with Eva and Dorian, you saw George walk in, his hair still messy from sleep and his eyes bleary and dim. You felt your stomach leap at his sleepy appearance, and Eva elbowed you when she noticed your eyes following the tall boy as he sat down with his twin. Fred noticed you and gave you a nod, and so did George.

So did George. Dear merlin, when did you become one of those girls who swooned over such a mundane, _friendly_ action? 

You pushed her elbow away, resuming your breakfast. You had promised her you’d think about your feelings, but you hadn’t said when, and it was certainly too early in the morning to start doing so now. 

The click-clack of heels rang through the Great Hall, and heads turned to watch Umbridge enter with a placid smile on her wide face. You felt the warm bubble of Christmas break bliss burst around you as you took in her pink skirt and top, her tightly curled watery brown hair, and her beady eyes that darted around the hall as she searched for something she could punish a student for. 

You hadn’t missed her, not one damn bit. She took her seat at the teacher’s table, and everyone quietly resumed eating, but the volume was considerably lower now. Umbridge smiled wider, as if that pleased her.

“I haven’t missed that toad,” Dorian mumbled sullenly. “Can’t believe we have to put up with her again.”

“Hopefully she removed some of that stick up her arse during the break,” Eva responded. “Maybe she’ll be less bitchy after a holiday.”

Eva, it turned out, couldn’t have been more wrong. As the day went on, Umbridge released six new decrees, breaking her previous record of four in a single day. By the time you go to Defense, you were dreading being in the same overly pink, overly perfumed room as her. Harry hadn’t said anything about when the next D.A. meeting was going to be, but you had a feeling you would sorely need one after your first class back with her. 

Standing at the front of the classroom, Umbridge smiled sweetly at the class, and you had the vague inclination to vomit at the sight. “It is so good to have you back, students! Now, some of you might’ve heard rumors about a certain incident that occured right before Christmas, yes?”

Some students nodded, and your chest stuck as you hoped she wasn’t talking about Arthur. “Now, we will not go into it, for it has been dealt with. However, I would give a word of caution to you. Any student caught speaking ill of the Ministry due to this incident or speculating about whom the attacker was will be punished. I will not have our Minister’s good name dragged through the mud because one man could not take proper safety precautions.”

You nearly jumped out of your chair in anger. How could Umbridge possibly blame Arthur for getting attacked? It was the Ministry’s fault Voldemort’s snake had gotten in, not Arthur’s! Beside you, Eva placed a hand on your arm, silently telling you she knew you were upset, but to calm down. 

  
“It was an unfortunate incident, but one that could’ve been avoided, if the man in question would have followed procedure. That, my students, is the exact reason I am so adamant that you all follow the rules. Rules are in place for a reason: to keep us _safe_ . And,” Umbridge said patronizingly, clasping her chubby hands together, “your safety is of the _utmost_ importance to us. Now, turn to page 289 in your text books. Today, we will start with the theory behind defensive spells. No wands,” she added as some students mistakenly reached into their bags. “Let us begin.”


	22. a/n

sorry this isn’t a chapter but i just wanted to let you guys know that updates might be a little slower for the foreseeable future. like i mentioned my mental health is kinda ,,, terrible right now and on top of that i have school and work, and i’m still recovering from covid which has been really difficult. i’m still going be actively writing, but there might be more than a week between updates. hope you’re all doing well and your kind comments really mean the world to me!!! writing this story knowing there are people who are looking forward to it is just such a wonderful and indescribable feeling and i’m so grateful to all of you for supporting me and being so kind to this story and to me <3 i can’t even believe how well-received this story has been and the fact that you are all like genuinely invested in it is just wild! thank you all so so much ! 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot even begin to describe the amount of love and appreciation i have for every one of you that left comments on my last update. hearing that you all not only enjoy the story, but are willing to wait for it, means more to me than i can even say. thank you so so much for your kindness and patience. i cannot believe i have such sweet and wonderful readers you guys are truly the best and i adore each one of you<3 i was in a bit of a writing slump but writing this chapter helped me out of it so i hope you all enjoy it! thank you all again for telling me to take my time and letting me upload when i can it truly helps so much to know that youre all willing to wait a few extra days between updates

George tugged on his sweater, his hair damp from the shower he’d taken after their first day back to classes. For the most part, it had been just as mundane and boring as he’d expected, especially Umbridge’s class. He couldn’t stand that woman; he hated her affinity for the color pink, he despised her voice, and every time he looked at her and saw her beady eyes trained on him like he was a bomb about to explode, he couldn’t control the disgust that crept up his spine. 

The only thing that had stood out in an otherwise normal day was Scales’ rosy mouth had dropped open slightly as he and Fred had nodded their hellos to her earlier that morning. George didn’t quite understand; it was just a  _ nod _ . He had to admit, though, that seeing that familiar shade of dusty pink cover her cheeks and nose as she flushed was a rather wonderful sight. 

He couldn’t count the amount of times Fred had pestered him about Scales since Halloween. George had shut him down with finality every single time, but Fred was Fred, which apparently meant he was incapable of leaving George well enough alone. Normally, the two of them shared everything. Fred was his better half, the bright sun to his dimmer moonlight, the calm to George’s explosive and unpredictable behaviour. 

But this...George just couldn’t share this with his brother. How could he? George couldn’t even work out how he felt. Sharing the jumbled knot of feelings that seemed to now permanently reside in his chest felt impossible. Untangling it had proven quite daunting and difficult so far. 

No, he’d just have to figure it out first. If that were even possible. 

He groaned as he dropped down onto his bed in the dorm he shared with Fred and Lee. Ever since Scales had shown up at the beginning of the year at the Burrow, her hair longer than George had ever seen it and her skin darker from the summer sun, George had been engaged in an internal war that didn’t seem to have an end in sight. 

And god, her fucking  _ body _ . George threw an arm over his face, feeling rather defeated and morose about the whole situation. When he’d seen her at the All Hallows’ Eve party, he could barely keep his eyes off of her. He hadn’t known it was her, of course, but still. George had felt distantly guilty that he’d slightly ignored his date that night, but compared to the way Scales had looked, every other person in the Great Hall could’ve been transparent for all the notice he gave them. 

Asking her to dance had taken him more bravery than he’d ever admit to anyone, including Fred. She’d been so  _ dark  _ and enticing and the way her body moved as she danced had George practically drooling over this mystery girl that had caught his eye right when he walked in. Finding out it was Scales had made George’s heart stop cold. He really should’ve known, though. A mask covered in gilded snakes? Only Scales would wear something so obvious and on the nose. George had barely been able to process the information when he’d found out it had been her underneath that finely-crafted mask.

Not because he was upset, though. Merlin, no. It made his heart stop because he’d done the one thing he’d been thinking about since the end of  _ August,  _ and he hadn’t even known at the time. It would’ve been different, kissing Scales knowing it was her. George had been sure of it. There was just something different about Scales that made George’s head feel foggy in the best way possible. 

He honestly wasn’t entirely sure what had changed over the summer, but something definitely had. Before, he’d only seen Scales as Ron’s annoying Slytherin friend who was around far too much in George’s opinion. When she’d first walked into the Burrow, George just thought it was a passing moment of brief physical attraction, which was bound to happen when everyone’s body was changing all the time. She’d constantly catch his eye when she’d walk into the room in clothes that weren’t her school uniform, and when he’d had her pressed up against him in the hallway the night they’d hidden from Umbridge, George had nearly combusted as he felt her arse press into his hips. And it had just been physical attraction, until the Quidditch game they’d played at midnight after Umbridge had banned scheduled games. 

The way she’d soared through the air, a dangerous, bright smile plastered across her face as she wove between the other team, the way that she moved like the broom was just another part of her body, the way that she had been able to understand his flying and respond so easily…

It had done George’s head in, to the point that he’d dreamt about it that night. Seeing Scales flying was like watching magic happen. It seemed so effortless for her, and she was so talented that George wondered how he’d never noticed it before. He’d seen her fly before, of course, but he’d never played on the same team as her. Playing with her instead of against her meant that he was able to actually watch her. And he’d taken that chance more than once over the course of the night. It was like he physically couldn’t make himself look away.

It was that night, as they were taking down the lights once the game was finished, that George had realized that: one, he might actually have feelings for Scales, and two, perhaps those feelings were not so simple and straightforward as feelings he’d had in the past towards other girls. That thought bloody terrified him, if he was being honest. He didn’t  _ do _ feelings, not like this. The girls he’d been with in the past had been fun, but George preferred his relationships brief and mainly physical. But now…

Well, things were very fucking different and George couldn’t decide how he felt about it. 

He was sure he was going mental. He’d gone all the way to Diagon Alley, late at night, just to buy that necklace for her, and it hadn’t been cheap. George didn’t  _ do _ things like that. He didn’t do romantic gestures, grand or otherwise. But he had seen the necklace on a trip to Diagon Alley with Fred to scope out shop locations, and he hadn’t been able to resist getting it for Scales when he’d remembered it the night before Christmas. It was so bloody perfect for her. The necklace had reminded him of her mask from Halloween: delicate, intricate, breathtaking. 

That was his Scales. 

Not  _ his _ , though. Never his. He was pretty sure he’d fucked up on that front. She’d loved the necklace, something that George was having a hard time not obsessing over, but he’d shoved her away and given her the cold shoulder for days after he’d accidentally walked in on her changing. George honestly couldn’t say why he had done it. 

He’d just...panicked. Panicked about the fact that he was maybe starting to feel something for not only his brother’s best friend, but for a girl he’d tortured relentlessly for  _ years _ . He’d never been nice to her. He’d never joked around with her. George hadn’t treated her with anything other than mild contempt during their previous years at Hogwarts. It wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Them kissing wasn’t supposed to happen either, but George couldn’t push the feel of her lips on his from his mind for longer than a few minutes at a time. It was like he  _ craved _ her now, like his hands itched to feel her skin again. If it wasn’t meant to happen, why had it felt so bloody right?

Bloody hell, what a sap he was fucking turning out to be. If the necklace hadn’t already proven that to him, the way that he looked for her everywhere he went, even unconsciously, certainly did.

“Oi, George, you feeling okay mate?” Lee Jordan asked as he entered their shared dorm. George pulled his arm off his face, sitting up and looking at one of his best friends. 

“Yeah, just a headache,” George lied, rubbing his face. “Umbridge’s class, y’know. Always makes my head hurt.”

Lee nodded, sitting down on his bed and untying his shoes. “You haven’t told me much about your holiday yet.”

“Oh, Fred didn’t say anything?”

“He did,” Lee said. He tossed his shoes toward the end of his bed and stretched out across the mattress, leaning against his headboard so he could still see George on the other side of the room. “Told me all about what he did. What did you do?”

George looked at Lee, a confused expression on his face. “Mate, we were at the same bloody house. Whatever Fred did, so did I. Same as always.”

“Oh, really.”

George nodded, shrugging. “Dunno what you want to know, mate. Dad’s alright, which is good.”

“I can tell when you’re hiding something from me, you know,” Lee informed him. George scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I can! Plus Fred already told me about your fun little bathroom tryst with Scales.”

George widened his eyes at his friend, throwing a pillow at him. Lee caught it, laughing as he tossed it back at George. George caught it, holding it against his chest as he looked at Lee disbelievingly. “You bloody git! If you already knew, why were you acting like you didn’t?”

Lee sighed. “Because I wanted to see if you’d tell me. You know, your  _ best friend _ . But I guess not,” Lee sighed once more, louder this time. “I understand, really. I knew you were going to get sick of me eventually.”

“Oh, piss off,” George said affectionately. “I just didn’t tell you because it slipped my mind. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a dare.” George was lying straight through his fucking teeth, and he knew by the way Lee was eyeing him that he didn’t believe him, but he went with it. Lying was the only way he’d be able to get any coherent thoughts out concerning Scales. “Fred kissed her, too, did he tell you about that?” 

George had not enjoyed that, if he was being honest. Seeing Scales being kissed by anyone felt  _ wrong _ and George had felt so disgruntled by it, he literally hadn’t been able to stomach watching. He didn’t like anyone brushing her hair back, or putting cupping her face in their hand, or kissing her. George wasn’t being possessive, he just didn’t like it. It was  _ Scales _ . Seeing someone kiss her was bloody weird. 

Lee snorted. “That he did. Said it was...how’d he put it...wank-worthy.”

“No, he didn’t.” George was nearly entirely certain that Lee was fucking with him, but on the off chance that he wasn’t...but Fred had Angelina. He didn’t think of Scales that way! He would’ve told George, George was certain of it. 

Then again, George...George hadn’t told Fred. 

“I swear to you,” Lee promised him. “He did! Went on and on about it. Told me all about how soft her lips were, and how warm she was, and-” Lee broke off with a gleeful laugh as George felt his face grow hot, his hands curling into fists as he fought down the strange sense of jealousy that was working through him. “You’re fucking jealous! I knew it!”

George glared at him. “I am not. Knew what?”

“Knew you fucking fancy her, you idiot! Fred told me they kissed, but that was literally it. All he said was, ‘oh, and then Scales and I kissed and George was so angry he had to leave the room,’” Lee said, pushing his voice lower in a poor imitation of Fred’s deeper voice. “You think that bloke has eyes for anyone other than Angelina? No way in hell, man.”

A weird wave of relief crashed over him, which strangely didn’t make him feel much better at all. George rubbed his face again, letting out a tight breath. The smile fell from Lee’s face, and he got up, coming to sit on George’s bed with him. “Woah, okay, you are not okay.”

George stilled for a moment, then shook his head, his hands still rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t think so, no.” It didn’t surprise him Lee could see through his indifference so easily. Lee had always been able to read him like that. 

“You want to talk about it?” Lee offered, his voice a bit softer. 

Did he? George really had no idea what there even was to say about the situation. “I dunno, I mean, what is there to really say? Scales and I have kissed twice now, once on accident and once on purpose, and I thought maybe just, you know, kissing her one more time would kind of get it out of my system, but it  _ didn’t _ , like at all, because then I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and-”

“Woah, okay,” Lee said, holding his hands up. “Slow down, take a breath. You’re going to pass out.” Lee leaned against one of the posts at the foot of his bed with his legs stretched out in front of him on the bed, and George mirrored his position at the head of his bed. “Start with the dare.”

George took a moment to sort through his memories. “Right, so Hermione dared us-”

“Wait,  _ Hermione _ ?” Lee repeated disbelievingly. “Okay, that is unexpected, but good on her.” George glared at Lee, and Lee motioned for him to continue. 

“So Hermione dared us to do seven minutes in heaven, which is rather a childish name for it, but Scales and I both couldn’t back out, since we’d already used our one pass each. We go to the bathroom, and I...we start to kiss, right, and I’m...I feel like I’m in a dream or something because it had been like two months since we’d last kissed and I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since then. If you tell anyone I said that,” George said quickly as Lee opened his mouth, “I’ll push you off the Astronomy Tower.” Lee, snapping his mouth shut, nodded that he understood, delight glinting in his eyes. “And so we kiss, and that was really it, and then, like a fucking  _ idiot _ , I just left! Fred knocked on the door, told us time was up, and I bloody  _ left _ without saying a fucking word.” 

Lee nodded thoughtfully. “Right. Go on.”

George sighed, pushing his hair from his face. It was getting longer than he’d ever let it get before, but he found he didn’t mind the length. He kind of liked being able to run his hands through it. “So we go back downstairs, and everyone was making fun of us, and Scales was pretty tipsy at that point, and she starts going on about how I told her I’d been wanting to kiss her since Halloween and how that was apparently the funniest bloody thing in the whole damn world because we hate each other.”

“But you don’t hate her,” Lee commented. “Or do you? Frankly, I’m confused.”

“You’re not alone, mate,” George told him morosely. “No, I don’t hate her. I’ve never  _ hated  _ her, just, you know, strongly disliked. It’s different.” 

Lee snorted. “Yeah, right, totally.”

“It is!” George objected. It was! He’d never hated her, but he couldn’t deny he’d definitely disliked her for the majority of the time he’s known her. Even still, there were moments that made George scoff or want to pull his hair out. “Then Dad comes home, and we’re all happy, and we’re sitting by the fire, and of course Scales is crammed in right next to me on the couch, because I dunno, the universe hates me. I was trying  _ so _ bloody hard to give her space, and then she goes and just fucking leans her head on my shoulder! I didn’t move or say anything, and I’m pretty sure it was an accident, because she just jumped right back up and didn’t say anything about it.”

“You sound like a Victorian lady, you know,” Lee joked, nudging George’s leg. “Obsessing over her touching you for like, two seconds.”

George kicked Lee’s leg that was next to his foot. “Do you want to hear this, or not?” Lee held up his hands in surrender, and George went on, his heart racing a bit faster now. “It snowed the next morning, so we went out to play Quidditch, and then the girls started throwing snowballs at us, and after they ran out, Fred and I did that enchanted stormcloud thing we showed you that Sirius showed us, and fucking  _ Scales, _ ” George said with a slightly disheartened groan. “Scales wasn’t wearing a fucking  _ bra _ and I didn’t want to be weird or anything but it was so noticeable, and then, holy shite, Lee, I was like ‘I’m not looking’ and guess what she fucking says?” Lee looked at him eagerly, and George felt his heart thudding almost painfully in his chest. “She goes, ‘I’d rather you did.’ I mean, what the fuck am I- how am I supposed to handle hearing that?”

Lee barked out a short laugh. “God, I forgot how bloody straightforward that girl can be.”

“She...fuck, I know,” George grumbled. “It’s going to be the damn death of me if she...anyway, then when I wouldn’t reverse the spell, she fucking knocked me over and sat on me and told me I had to say say something nice about her before she would get up.”

“What did you say, then?” Lee asked curiously, picking a stray bit of thread on George’s duvet. 

George felt the tips of his ears grow warm, and he looked away from his best friend. “I didn’t, um, say anything. I just froze. She was sitting on me, and she was soaking wet, and she looked--and I didn’t say anything and she thought it was because I didn’t have anything to say.” Lee’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and George groaned in frustration for what felt like the millionth time. “I know! God, I  _ know _ , I’m so fucking stupid. I had the chance to say something nice, something  _ real _ that wouldn’t have meant anything serious, and I couldn’t think about anything but the way she fucking  _ looked _ . I sound like a fucking first year.”

“I love you, mate, and you know that. You’re also the stupidest bloke I’ve ever fucking met! How the hell did you manage to fuck that up? Talking to girls has never been hard for you. Like, literally  _ ever. _ ”

“I  _ know _ . I know!” George didn’t know why that missed opportunity was making him so angry, but there was no denying it was. “It gets worse, though.”

“How the fuck did you manage to make it worse than that?” Lee asked, his face wide with surprise. 

George felt embarrassment twist in his stomach. “Ah, I, um, walked in on her while she was changing right after? Um, she wasn’t- I mean, she was in a towel, but that was...that was all,” George told Lee, the sight of Scales, her skin still glistening with water and flushed from the heat of her shower, standing in front of him in nothing but an old towel that brushed just below her upper thighs flashing in his mind. George was suddenly very glad he had a pillow covering his lap. 

“Bloody hell,” Lee whispered. “George, hate to break it to you, but this is...well, it’s not great, honestly. It’s a bit of a mess.”

“And I got her a necklace,” George added, mumbling slightly. “For Christmas.”

Lee groaned, throwing his head back. “George, mate,  _ merlin _ . Why?”

“She doesn’t know I was the one who gave it to her!” George defended. Lee looked at him exasperatedly. “That doesn’t make anything better, does it?”

“Not in the least, man,” Lee said regretfully. “Are you going to tell her you gave it to her?”

George hadn’t even fucking thought about that. She loved it now, but George was weirdly afraid that she’d love it less if she knew it was from him. Everyone had been telling her it was from a secret admirer, anyway, but there was no way she would think it was him without someone telling her, right? George had been so hot and cold with her that he was sure she would never guess it was him. He didn’t know if that made him feel better. He couldn’t even really tell how he felt about any of this.“I don’t know. No, I think. She...actually really likes it.”

“And you think she’ll hate it if she knew it was from you,” Lee guessed. George nodded and Lee thought for a moment. “I dunno mate. This is fucking tricky, isn’t it?” George just nodded again. He didn’t even know what he’d been thinking when he’d given her the necklace. He had just seen it in passing and it had instantly reminded him of her. “Are you going to do anything?”

“What do you mean?”

Lee gestured vaguely with his hands. “You know, do anything about Scales. With Scales.”

“I honestly haven’t gotten that far, mate,” George confessed. “I’ve been so fucking thrown for a loop just by the fact that I  _ do _ like her that I haven’t had a moment to think about what I should do about it.”

Frankly, George felt wildly out of depth. Like Lee had pointed out, George had never really had much trouble with girls. It was always just  _ easy _ . He felt comfortable talking to them, and most of the time, they fell for him right away. But Scales was different. George had known that for a while, but he realized now that he didn’t think she was different because he didn’t like her. 

She was different because he did. 

~

Harry had finally called a D.A. meeting, the first one they’d had since being back. George was rather excited for it. He was pretty sure sitting in Umbridge’s class, listening to her drone on and on about proper procedure and honor and duty, was making him stupider. If that wasn’t bad enough, he always left her class with a headache beginning to prick the backs of his eyes from her odiferous perfume she always wore. 

That wasn’t the only thing giving him a headache, though. In all the commotion surrounding his dad’s attack, and kissing Scales, George had completely forgotten about Khaleia. She’d come up to him on the train ride back, a happy smile plastered across her slender face. George had nearly kicked himself when he’d remembered that him and Khaleia were still whatever they were. George had been very careful not to let either of them put a label to it, like he normally was, but now he was extra grateful for that fact. 

He hadn’t really figured out what to do about her. Just another thing on his list of shit to figure out. How wonderful. George felt bad, really, he did. Though he preferred hookups and brief relationships, he wasn’t an arse. But he certainly couldn’t do anything with Khaleia with Scales on his mind constantly. Even from afar, she really did a great job at making things harder for George. 

George and Fred rounded the corner into the hallway where the Room of Requirement hid itself, George’s heart starting thud as they neared the blank section of wall that George knew all too well. Twisted iron and dark wood began pushing out from the stone, grinding softly as the door appeared fully. “Never gets old, does it?” George asked. 

Fred shook his head, smiling at the magical entrance “No, it really doesn’t. Oi, before we go in,” Fred said as George reached for the door. George dropped his hand, turning to his twin. “I just have to ask you something.”

“Get on with it, then,” George answered. 

“As twins, we’ve always told each other everything, yes? We don’t keep secrets,” Fred began. 

George looked at him oddly. “Right, of course not. Why are you acting odd?”

“I’m not acting odd,” Fred said. “Just checking that we’re still adhering to that, yeah?”

George nodded, reaching for the handle of the door once more. “Yes, mate, of course. When have I ever kept anything from you?”

Fred shrugged. “You haven’t. Until now, anyways.” 

“Until now?”

“That’s what I said.”

George dropped his hand again, turning fully towards Fred, who was looking a bit like he was sort of pained over something. “Okay, so are you going to actually talk to me about what’s making you act all weird, or do I just have to guess?”

“I just…” Fred sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re keeping something from me, and that’s fine, I guess, I mean just because we’re twins doesn’t mean we  _ have _ to tell each other everything, but we have literally since we could talk, you know?” 

George suddenly felt a stab of guilt as he watched his brother ramble on. “I don’t know if this is really the best time to get into this, but you’re right. I haven’t...I didn’t tell you, but only because I only realized what it actually was when I was talking to Lee after our first day of classes.” A flash of hurt spread across Fred’s face, and George felt even guiltier. “And I know you’re probably a bit miffed I talked to Lee first, but it really wasn’t on purpose. He was just there and I was already having a hell of a time, and it all just kind of spilled out. You were out with Angelina, so it was just him and me in the dorm.” 

“And you just haven’t bothered talking to me about it since then?” Fred asked. 

“Again, not purposefully. I’ve just not been talking about it because even my thoughts about the situation confuse me, so actually talking about it would probably be a bloody nightmare, y’know?”

Fred looked a bit apprehensive as he asked his next question. “And that’s the only reason you haven’t brought it up?”

“I solemnly swear it,” George said. “The only reason. Freddie, you know you’re the person I tell everything to. And I swear I’ll talk to you about this, but I’m honestly a bit embarrassed by it.”

Fred finally pushed open the door, and George ducked in after him once he’d checked the hallway in front of the Room was clear. “Embarrassed?” Fred asked, but George only half-heard him. 

Scales was standing in the front of the room by Ron and Harry, laughing loudly at something Ron had just said. Jealousy surfaced, making George’s brow dip as he looked at Ron. Ron wasn’t that funny; George had lived with him for years. Why was she laughing so hard, then? Scales flipped her long hair behind her shoulder, a small bit shaking loose and framing one side of her face as she talked animatedly with Harry and Ron. George found himself wanting to brush that strand of hair behind her ear. 

She was wearing her school uniform, which usually made girls look okay at best, but on Scales, it seemed to fit her perfectly. Her white shirt, the top two buttons undone, offset the color of her skin brilliantly, her black and green tie hung loosely around her neck in an eye-catching display of disregard for the dress code, and her black boots, which George had never seen before, made her legs look like they went on for miles and miles. 

“Well, I’m a blind bloody idiot, aren’t I?” Fred said suddenly, and George’s attention broke away from Scales. 

“What?”

Fred’s eyes flickered to Scales, a look of clear understanding on his face. “That’s it, isn’t it. The thing that’s had your knickers all in a twist lately.”

George nodded after a second, figuring it was useless to deny it when Fred had caught him staring so openly. “Unfortunately. Can you at least save the jokes for after the meeting?”

“What jokes?” Fred asked. “What, this is what you were embarrassed about? That you have  _ feelings _ ?” Fred laughed, patting his brother on the back. “Mate, I’ve been waiting for this day since the moment I realized I was in love with Angelina because I knew this is exactly how you were going to react.”

“Wh-in  _ love _ ?” George spluttered, his eyes widening at his twin, who had a proud grin on his face. “I am not in  _ love _ .”

A non-commital grunt came from Fred as he shrugged. “Whatever you say, Georgie.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay listen,,,this chapter is over 5k words and it has to be another one of my absolute favorites that ive ever written. that seems to keep happening with this story but theres just something so easy and wonderful about writing it ! i really hope you all enjoy it because in my opinion, it is a fantastic chapter lol

You heard the door to the Room of Requirement opening, and out of habit, you looked up. Fred and George walked in, and before they saw you, you looked away, your heart stuttering embarrassingly hard at the sight of George. You tuned back into the conversation at hand just in time to hear Ron make a joke about Umbridge that made you laugh so hard you nearly doubled over. 

Of course George was here, you told yourself. It was a D.A. meeting; you should’ve mentally prepared yourself to see him. But apparently, you were stupid, and hadn’t. Harry walked to the middle of the large room, yelling, “Oi! Listen up!”

Everyone turned their attention to him, and you did your best to keep your eyes on Harry, who was welcoming everyone back from the holiday, instead of looking at George. Though you’d seen him considerably less in the short time since you’d gotten back to Hogwarts, that had somehow only made seeing him every time even worse. It was as if all of the anticipation built up between each time you spent time with Ron, or bumped into the twins in the hallway, or studied with your Gryffindor friends and it would hit you all at once every time you saw George. 

Seeing him in passing was almost worse. He’d be laughing, or brushing his red hair out of his face that was now so long it was starting to curl, or grinning lazily at some girl trying to flirt with him, and you’d have to just keep walking even though a bubble of heat would ignite in your stomach. It was the heat of attraction, no doubt about that, but it was also the burnt displeasure of jealousy. Seeing small pockets of George’s day where he was enjoying himself and paying attention to others almost felt like looking onto a scene from behind a window. It was there, playing out in front of you, but you were not a part of the action. You’d started letting yourself admit you wanted George, and that was progress in your book. That hadn’t made it easier, surprisingly. 

You’d started letting yourself admit you wanted George, and your mind seemed to take this as an invitation to create scenarios during sleep or when you were daydreaming that always starred him. Sometimes, it would be declarations of undying love; sometimes, it would be scenes that would leave you frustrated and tense; mostly, it was little scenes of you and him together, his long fingers brushing your hair out of your face, or his soft mouth pressing even softer kisses to every bit of skin he could reach. You wanted him, and now, it wasn’t purely physical. You’d somehow developed a whole bloody _crush_ on the boy. And god, you were a mess because of it. 

“Okay, so today, we’re going to be working on Patronuses! I know you’ve all been waiting ages for this, believe me, and I think we’ve finally gotten to a point where we can do it!” Harry was saying, earning eager and excited expressions from the rest of the D.A. “It isn’t easy, but once you get the hang of it, you’ll be able to do it every time! Right, everyone spread out a bit, and we can begin.” The sound of shoes scuffling across stone filled the air as everyone found a space for themselves. You were standing near Ron, George, Fred, Angelina, and Hermione. Luna, Cho, Seamus, and Dean were a few paces away. 

Excited and anticipatory energy filled the room, practically infectious. This was likely the most anticipated lesson since the formation of the D.A., and you certainly were looking forward to it. Ever since you had seen the beauty of Harry’s stag fighting against the horde of Dementors sent to deliver their fatal kiss to Sirius, you had longed for the ability to create something so wonderful yourself. You had tried a few times, on your own. You’d never been successful, though; the magic it took to produce any bit of a Patronus was monumental. 

“You all know the incantation, I’m assuming?” A few people nodded, and Harry continued. “Brilliant. Now, you all know you have to think of a happy memory, but it can’t just be any happy memory. It has to be a time where you were the happiest you can ever remember being. You have to pull the happiness from inside of yourself and imagine it flowing out through your wand.” 

You’d thought a few times about what your Patronus memory would be since third year, when Harry had saved Sirius from the Dementors using it. It used to be your eleventh birthday, when you’d received your Hogwarts letter, but you weren’t so sure that was your happiest memory anymore.

“It has to be a memory that nothing else compares to. This memory has to make you feel like you’re standing on the very top of the world, with every single thing you could ever wish or hope for. The happiness isn’t like the kind you get when you hear a joke or see a sunset. You have to find a memory that makes you feel _whole_ , makes you feel utterly and entirely complete.”

Everyone around you seemed to be thinking of theirs, as well, and then it hit you. You smiled softly as you thought about the memory, happiness welling in your chest. Leaning into that joy, you imagined the white sparks of feeling building up in you, flowing into your arm that held your wand. 

Harry smiled at his eager pupils. “Everyone got it? Have at it then!”

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_

Shouts erupted around the room, but you, Ron, and Luna were the only ones who got any sort of result. A soft wisp of silver erupted from your wand, bouncing around in the air before evaporating. Harry clapped his hands, looking at you excitedly. “Yes! That was almost it!” You repeated the incantation again, letting that feeling of entire and complete joy overwhelm your body. Heat flooded your hand as your magic pushed from your wand. 

Silver appeared from the tip of your wand, but this time, a fully formed lynx began bounding around the classroom, prowling and sniffing, its tail swishing behind it as it explored. You fought to keep your concentration as the rest of the D.A. stopped trying to produce their own patronus to gape at yours. The lynx was big, just slightly smaller than a cheetah, and it was so sturdy it felt like you could reach out and touch it if you wanted. Watching the realized vision of the memory that brought you the most joy made you feel indescribably happy and full, as if you were experiencing that memory all over again. 

It was a curious thing, bounding through the air wherever it pleased, seemingly wanting to explore every corner of the mirror-lined room. Your hand gripping the wand was hot and full of electrifying tingles, making the tips of your fingers feel pricked with sparks. As the toll of performing magic pressed down on you, your energy began dropping very quickly, and you were able to hold the spell for only a few more moments. Your wand dipped, and with it disappeared your lynx, vanishing with a swirl of silvery air. The joy whooshed from you as the silver smoke dispersed, leaving your body feeling strangely empty and electrified at once. 

Letting out a wonder-filled quiet breath of air, you could feel everyone’s eyes on you, pressing into you like the poke of grass through socked feet. The first person’s reaction that you sought out was George’s, his mouth partially open in an expression of awe. It hadn’t been on purpose, but more out of instinct. Your cheeks heated, but still, you did not look away. Instead, you searched his amber eyes for a moment, feeling like there was some feeling there that he wanted you to find. It seemed that looking at George was the only thing that existed in the world, your heart skipping and racing like an over-excited hare, your brain noting the subtle freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, the soft pink that tinted his cheeks. 

The ecstasy that had left you ,as your lynx had, returned. Not in the same amount, but enough that you understood why that particular memory had been successful when your previous efforts with others had not. 

“Bloody brilliant!” Harry called out, breaking you from that frozen piece of time you’d been sharing with George. Still stunned, you tore your eyes away from George’s with no small amount of effort. The room erupted into amazed chatter. 

“That was...merlin, honestly, that was bloody beautiful,” Ron told you, blinking at you like he had just seen something entirely wondrous. “I’ve seen a few fully-formed Patronuses before, and it always manages to kind of take my breath away.”

Your eyes darted back to George for a fraction of a second as you responded. “That was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever done,” you said, shocked even after seeing it that you were truly able to actually produce a fully-formed Patronus. “It felt...fuck, it felt...I don’t even know. I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy in my entire life.”

“It’s a hard bit of magic, but god, you fucking did it!” Harry looked at you proudly, and you couldn’t help but revel a bit in his infectious attitude. 

“It’s mostly thanks to an absolutely wonderful teacher,” you told him honestly. Harry waved a hand dismissively, but you shook your head. “Really, Harry, you’re amazing at this. Surely you’ve thought of being a teacher, yes?” 

Harry brushed back a stray bit of wild black hair. “Ah, maybe a time or two. But…”

Right. _But._ The way that things were going...a future of teaching was a long, long way off for Harry. There was no way that he would ever abandon everything you all were fighting for just to become a teacher. No, Harry would certainly fight until the end of this horrible situation life had given him. “Yeah,” you agreed. A solemn look flitted across Harry’s face. He deserved it, you thought. Harry deserved a life where he could dream up the most fantastical future he possibly could. A life that did not always have the dark shadow of danger looming over it. You all did. 

“Good job, really,” Harry said once more. His words were much gentler, much quieter this time. You hated that thinking of his own future caused Harry such sadness. It was easy to forget, even while Dumbledore’s Army was meeting, that these lessons were not for fun. Harry was teaching you so that you could be prepared for the fighting that was sure to come, even if so many in the Wizarding world continued to deny it. 

And the lessons were fun. Learning advanced magic with your closest friends by your side gave you a sense of purpose and belonging like little else had before. Always present, though, always hanging over your heads was the knowledge and recognition that by learning from Harry, by arming yourselves with new spells every meeting, you were agreeing that you wanted to fight. Or perhaps not wanted, but you were willing. That if the time came, you would be ready to protect yourself, and maybe even others. Daunting as it was, it also helped you know that you might be able to make a difference at some point in time. You weren’t just sitting idly by, praying that the tension and terror would simply evaporate. You were doing something about it. 

By the end of the lesson, you and Harry remained the lone members of the D.A. to produce a fully-formed Patronus. A few members, like Ron, Luna, George, and a handful of others had been able to produce tendrils and wisps of silver smoke that only floated idly from the tips of their wands before vanishing. You would never say as much, but being the only other person aside from Harry to perform such magic made pride swell in your chest. It created a strange stamp of sameness, at least in your eyes. You, a Slytherin, who had been widely mistrusted since the first D.A. meeting, were the only other student to match Harry’s skill in that particular area. That had to mean at least something. 

Everyone left in the usual staggered groups, all chattering amongst themselves about the events of the meeting. Harry hadn’t brought up Arthur’s attack, but you would’ve had to be deaf not to hear the constant murmurs and whispers about it. You were glad for it, though; you still hadn’t processed it, not entirely, and even the simple mention of it made you feel terrified and suffocated, much like the dream had. 

You left the room with Ron, Harry, and Fred. The groups changed every meeting- they were willing to spare no precaution when it came to keep Dumbledore’s Army hidden from the rest of Hogwarts. It was dinner time, or nearly, so the four of you decided to skip returning to your dorms and chose instead to make your way down to the Great Hall. You were grateful the meeting had ended so close to dinner. Expending that much magic, especially for the first time, had left you tired and hungry enough that you might’ve been able out-eat even Ron. 

“You know, I’m bloody impressed with you,” Fred said as you descended the moving staircases, carefully avoiding the trick steps you all had become quite familiar with in the past six years. “That kind of magic...needless to say, George was practically speechless the rest of the lesson. Bloody nice, that was. Maybe you need to do that more, just so I can get some peace and quiet.”

Fred bringing up George wasn’t unusual; they did spend a majority of their time together. They were close. Yet his name still piqued your attention. “Oh, well, I guess I just found the right memory, you know?”

“What memory was it, anyway?” Ron asked. 

Sharing it felt like revealing something incredibly private, which was odd seeing as all three of them had actually been present for the memory you’d chosen. “Just one of playing Quidditch,” you answered. It was the truth. 

You wanted to keep the memory close to your chest, keep it just for yourself. The three of them had been there, but sharing that this certain moment had given you enough power to produce a Patronus felt wrong. It was yours, and you were keen on keeping it that way. Ron eyed you, knowing that that perhaps wasn’t the entire truth of it, but you ignored him. No one had a right to know. 

“Ah, Quidditch,” Fred mused wistfully. “A wonderful mistress is she.”

~

Studying with Briar and Dorian was normally a productive way to spend time, but looking down at your Charms textbook, you couldn’t quite find it in yourself to focus. George was sitting only a table away, the light from the massive library windows illuminating his hair, making a soft halo of red seem to surround his head as he bent over whatever course work he was studying. The soft, worn shoulders of his sweater hugged his frame, the knitted collar, slightly stretched from years of use, dipping to reveal a peak of his pale collarbones. He’d arrived an hour after you had, and the time since had been entirely unproductive. 

You wondered why it had taken you so long to realize just how beautiful George Weasley truly was. Handsome, yes; there was no denying that. But if you had to pick any word to describe your best friend’s older brother, it truly would be beautiful. When he was younger, he’d been lanky, a bit awkward and too long. Now he had grown into that lankiness, and the awkward limbs turned into graceful ones. The high voice he’d sported your first and second year dropped to a musical baritone that made goosebumps dance across your skin whenever he spoke directly to you. Which didn’t happen nearly as often as you let yourself secretly hope for. 

“Oi.” Briar tapped you on the wrist. “Pay attention, please! We’ve only got a few days until Flitwick’s test, and you’re spending it daydreaming.”

You tore your eyes away from George, something that had become more difficult with every passing day. It was made harder by the fact that George had not touched you since the Burrow, and your skin felt like it was aching for the skim of his large, slightly callused hands across your body. “Sorry, sorry,” you apologized. “Where were we?” 

“Non-verbal charms,” Dorian told you, grimacing. “I don’t know how Flitwick expects us to actually be able to learn these in three weeks. They’re fucking impossible! I felt like I’m going to burst a blood vessel every time I try because of how fucking hard I have to concentrate, and nothing even happens!”

You had been looking forward to non-verbal spells since you’d heard about them your second year. Performing magic without speaking was fascinating, and you were determined to be one of the first in your year to do it successfully. Casting a Patronus had certainly upped your confidence in yourself, but if you had thought that was hard, non-verbal spells were even worse. “We’ll get it,” you assured your friends, who were looking incredibly morose. “I promise. It’s all about confidence and repetition, right? We just have to keep working on it.” 

Dorian shut his book with a dusty slam. “I’ve got to be done for the day, or my brain might actually explode.” 

“You’re probably right,” Briar agreed. “I’m starting to get a headache from reading. I don’t know whose idea it was to make the words so fucking small, but I think I’ve got a personal vendetta against them now.”

You laughed, watching your friends as they packed up their things. “You guys go ahead. I’m going to study for a bit longer. I think I’ve almost got it.”

“Right, because your focus is somehow suddenly going to appear again,” Briar joked. “Come on, just come back to the common room with us. We can play a game or something.”

Shaking your head, you remained firmly in your seat. You did almost have it, and you wanted to keep working, but you also wanted to seize the rare opportunity of getting to observe George while both you and him were alone. “I’ll come back in just a bit. I swear. I’m only going to stay thirty minutes, if that.” 

Sighing, Briar shrugged. “Alright. Have fun, I guess. Don’t overwork yourself, though,” she added, her brows knitting together with worry. “You’ve been throwing yourself into homework since you got back, and not that you don’t normally work hard, but it’s a bit concerning. Are you sure, you know, you’re alright?”

“Yes, really, I am. I’ve just been trying to get good marks for next year. Some of the classes I want to take are going to be really difficult, and I want to get ahead now.” 

Briar and Dorian knew you well, and you could tell that perhaps they didn’t wholly believe you. They also knew that there was no changing your mind. “See you in a few,” Briar said, planting a kiss on the top of your head. Dorian hugged you, and off they went, leaving you alone with your books and the thread of longing that tied you to George that seemed to pull harder with each passing day. 

His hands were tapping idly on the wooden table as he read, a noise that normally would have grated against your skin and drove you mad with irritation, but it was different with George. Everything was different with George. 

Without warning, George’s eyes flicked up suddenly, catching you entirely red-handed in the act of watching him. You immediately looked away, warm red embarrassment flushing your cheeks and the back of your neck. _Shite_. Footsteps approached, and you hoped, in a strange, internal tug-of-war, that it was both George and anyone in the entire world other than George. It was George, of course, and standing over you while you were sitting meant that you had to crane your head back a bit uncomfortably to look at him. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice a half-whisper due to Madam Pince being only a few shelves away. 

“Um, hi,” you responded lamely. “Sorry for- I mean, I wasn’t staring, you just happened to look up right-”

George plopped down into the chair Dorian had been sitting in previously. “It’s fine. I didn’t come over because of that. I’ve...ah, I’ve been waiting for your friends to leave so I could tell you that…” George trailed off, and you were on the edge of your seat waiting for what he wanted to say. “Um, your Patronus! Yeah, it was- well, it was a bloody crazy bit of magic.”

Your heart seemed to grab hold of the compliment with stuttering excitement, beating hard and fast in your chest. George had waited for nearly an hour just to come over and tell you he’d thought your Patronus was good. “Thank you,” you said. A pitiful answer, especially the odd way you’d said it, but it was the best you could do when George was closer than he’d been since the Burrow. 

“It doesn’t surprise me, you know,” he continued, and his voice was steady, but his hands were twisting together beneath the table. “You’re good at that stuff. At magic, at charms, I mean.” 

It was as if someone had performed an Oblivation spell on every word that you knew. Finding a response to George’s second compliment in less than as many minutes was bloody impossible, apparently. “I-I guess. I mean, I just...found the right memory.”

George pushed his hair back, combing it from his face, and you felt heat lighting dimly in your stomach. “Do you mind- I mean, can I ask…”

“What memory it was?” You’d heard that question many times since that D.A. meeting, but hearing it from George was like hearing it for the first time. “It was playing Quidditch.” That was the answer you gave everyone, but with George, the memory suddenly didn’t feel like something you needed to protect. “Actually, it was that first midnight game after Umbridge banned Quidditch.” 

George’s eyes widened minutely, but he stuffed the surprised expression away so quickly you thought you might’ve imagined it. “Right. I remember that night. It was a good game.”

“It was,” you agreed, as if that was the reason that memory was your favorite. “Our team did well.” It felt like you were skirting around something, like neither of you wanted to address the strange space between you that felt incredibly full and pressing. The conversation felt stilted and awkward, but maybe that was just because you were so incredibly aware of your own feelings now that being around George made you a wreck. 

George nodded, his red hair falling into his face again. “Yeah, we had a good team. We played well together.”

You knew he meant that the team played well together, but you let yourself imagine for a moment that he meant you and he had played well together. “It was a good night. I actually nearly got caught that night, when I was heading down to the pitch.”

“Did you?” George asked. 

Tracing the edge of the book open in front of you, you nodded. “Almost ran into Filch. Bit scary, that man. I, uh, wished I’d had that candy you gave me that night we nearly got caught by Umbridge.” You didn’t really know why that admission felt so revealing. It felt too close to asking for help, maybe. 

“Pretty useful, those things. I’m glad you didn’t get caught, though,” George told you, a delighted spark in his eyes as he thought about his creation. “I mean, we wouldn’t have won without you.”

“You might’ve. You play well enough on your own.” It was the most direct compliment you’d given George, probably ever, and saying the short sentence was the most nerve-wracking thing you’d done in weeks. 

The corner of George’s mouth twitched upwards, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and placing a kiss there. “Scales, was that a compliment you just gave me?”

Feigning indifference, you shrugged. Internally, butterflies were wreaking havoc at George’s half smile. “It’s true. I’ve watched you play enough to know.” You went to any Gryffindor games you weren’t also playing in to support Harry with Ron. Years of watching their team and playing pick-up games at the Burrow meant that you had a pretty good gauge of George’s skill on a broom.

“What I really meant was, you and I play well together.”

“Oh,” you said, the word breathless as your heart leapt at the admission. “I think that we play well together, too. It...I mean,” you hesitated, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “It’s easy to read you, when you play.” And only when he was playing, because reading George was impossible. Even now, his eyes were on you, but you couldn’t tell what he thought of this conversation. “That probably is a bit daft, isn’t it? I mean, we just-”

George shook his head, one of his hands bumping against yours. “It’s not. Playing with you feels...good, you know. Natural, even. Like you said, it’s easy to read you. You...the way that you play…I really don’t think I’ve seen anything like it.”

Seeing George like this, stumbling every now and then through his words, was odd. He normally exuded confidence, in a way that made everyone else around him simultaneously envy and revere it. But now, it seemed like speaking wasn’t as easy and thoughtless for him as it usually was. It made those pesky butterflies flap their wings even harder. You didn’t think it could possibly be you that had that effect on him, but what else would it be when it was just the two of you alone, talking? 

“George, will you promise me that...that you won’t poke fun at me?” The question felt stupidly desperate, and you regretted it the second you asked it, but George was already nodding. “So the memory that I chose, it...it wasn’t just that night.” _Shitshitshit_. What were you doing? There was no way George wouldn’t either laugh at you or find it a bit odd that playing with him, watching him play, was the memory that had helped you produce your Patronus. “When I cast my Patronus, I was...I was thinking about playing with you. About how you and I played in that game. Together.”

George’s mouth formed an _o_ as you finished speaking. You waited, in deafening, painful silence for George to respond. “You were thinking of me?” He asked finally, his voice quieter than it had been the entire conversation. There was a reverent sort of tone to his words, as if he couldn’t quite believe what you had just said. 

Feeling utterly ridiculous and mortified, you looked down at your lap. “Yeah, yes, I guess I was. Of you that night, specifically.”

“Scales, look at me.” 

You felt a warm fingertip under your chin, tilting your gaze back up to meet George’s. You knew your face was flushed red, and you wouldn’t be surprised if George could hear just how hard your heart was thundering in your chest. The sheer power of it felt like it was going to bruise your rib cage. His hand dropped down, and you missed the contact, as small and brief as it had been. George hadn’t touched you since you returned to Hogwarts; you would accept any touch, at this point. 

George leaned in so close you could clearly see the flecks of gold and red running through his irises. And his scent, the one that made your knees shake and your mouth water whenever you caught a whiff of it, was flooding your nostrils. Wanting to take in a deep inhale, you settled instead for reveling in the wonderful, heady smell of cinnamon that seemed to wrap around you like a blanket. “Scales, that night,” George started, and every word was slow, _too_ slow, like he had to put in effort to form the shape of every syllable. “That night means...it means something to me, too. Watching the way you flew was...honestly, it was the most breathtaking thing I’d ever seen.”

You wondered if one’s brain could go into shock or overload just from a few simple words, because if it was possible, that’s certainly what was happening to you now. The words seemed impossible to digest, like your body didn’t even know how to handle George saying something like that. He had essentially ignored you since coming back to school, other than the few odd hellos and nods. There had been no real conversation, no time spent even remotely close to alone, and now George was telling you that that night was as important, as precious to him as it was to you. At least, that’s what you thought he was saying. You prayed to anything and everything that you weren’t wrong. 

George worried at his lower lip, and the sight made your hips ache with want. You hadn’t kissed him in far too long for your taste. “Scales, I didn’t really come over here to talk about your Patronus, though I have been wanting to tell how bloody amazing that was.” A nod was the only way you could tell him to continue you, because you were entirely incapable of words. George’s eyes darted down to your collarbones, where the silver serpent was resting just below the hollow of your throat. Since receiving it, you hadn’t taken it off, even to shower and sleep. Something about the necklace made the thought of taking it off feel impossible. 

“That necklace,” George started, gesturing to it with a dip of his chin. “Do you know who gave it to you?” A shake of your head. It was still a mystery; you’d honestly given up on finding out who gave it to you. There had been so much else going on that it had been pushed to the recesses of your mind. “You have no clue at all?”

“None,” you managed to confirm. “Like I said, there was no tag or anything and no one’s come forward about it.”

A ghost of a grin slipped across George’s face, disappearing almost as fast as it had arrived. “You never take that thing off, do you?”

Reaching up to touch it, you said, “No. Never. It’s a bit silly, but I just...there’s something about it that I can’t describe.” 

“Right.” George let out a tiny breath, as if he was trying to convince himself to do something. Lines of worry were etched around his eyes. “If you knew who it was from, do you think you’d like it less?”

“No, I don’t think so,” you answered truthfully. “Whoever got this for me, I assume they know me well, or at least well enough to know that I would love it. Why would knowing make me like it any less? It would...I dunno, make it more special, if anything.” 

Tension seemed to drop from George’s face, and you could feel your heart speeding up again. On the table, your palms felt sweaty with nervous anticipation. You just wanted George to tell you whatever he was trying to hint at, because your brain was not working well enough to work through his subtleties. 

“Do you want to know who gave it to you?” George questioned, his eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. 

_Yes_. “Yes.”

George let out another short breath. The nerves that were singing through you like electricity were building up so quickly that you could barely keep your body still as you waited for George to tell you who had given it to you. It crossed your mind that it was a bit odd that George knew who gave it to you and no one else did. 

Making direct eye contact with you, causing a shiver to run down your spine, George said, “I did.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant wait to hear your guys' thoughts on this i absolutely live for your comments they make my day and i cant believe so many people love this story as much as i do


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i am SO happy you guys loved the last chapter omg i couldnt believe how many comments you guys left! hopefully this one is just as good <3

Instead of shock, a feeling of rightness settled over you, as if you had known subconsciously that it had been George. As if your brain had been  _ wanting  _ it to be George. Still, you had a hard time controlling the nervous excitement that made your hands shake and your mouth feel like it was full of cotton. What made things exponentially more difficult was the expression in George’s eyes. You could’ve sworn he looked  _ nervous _ , but that couldn’t be right, could it? George didn’t get nervous; he was the most confident, self-assured person you’d ever met. It used to bother you incessantly, used to drive you up the wall every time you saw him speak so suavely to girls or brush off insults like they were metaphorical flies buzzing round his head. “You gave it to me?” you asked finally, even though you’d heard him loud and clear. You just wanted to hear it once more. 

“Yeah. You’re disappointed,” he said, his voice flat. For some reason, the cracks in his confident exterior that were barely paved over as he sat next to you made something fierce twist and swell in your chest. 

Shaking your head vehemently, you looked down at the necklace. You weren’t disappointed, not in the slightest. In fact, you couldn’t imagine being more excited that it had been him. “No, no, not at all. It’s just…” you worked up the courage to ask the question you’d been pondering since the moment you’d opened that little red box and seen the silver snake on the velvet cushion. “Why?” Such a small, short word, and yet, the amount of answers it could receive were endless. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t one answer that you longed to hear more than any other. 

“Why?” George repeated. The light in the library was beginning to fade as the sun started its slow descent just above the rolling green hills you could see outside the massive windows, but if you focused, you could see a pink tinge creeping across George’s freckled face. Waiting for his answer actually seemed to slow time to a painful crawl. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, a drumroll of anxiety as you watched his mouth open, then close, then open again. “I saw it in Diagon Alley one day and the first thing I thought of was you.” 

“Me?” Hearing George confess he’d gotten it for you was apparently enough to turn your brain to mush, to make comprehending his words a monumental task. “Why?” Even to your own ears, you were beginning to sound repetitive, much like a parrot, only able to mimic certain words. So much anticipation in such a short word as you waited for what you truly wanted to know:  _ but  _ why _ did you think of me?  _

Who would’ve thought that merely speaking to George would be enough to reduce your vocabulary to single-syllable words? George smiled wryly, a sight that made that little spot below your navel ache in the best way possible. “I mean, it’s a snake, but that’s...that’s not really why, I guess. I saw it and it reminded me of you, of the mask you wore to the Halloween party. It was so delicate and so intricate and I don’t really know much about jewelry at all, but I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it.” 

Your mind was struggling to figure out whether he meant those compliments for your mask, or for  _ you _ . “It’s the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen,” you agreed softly. “It...I mean, this sounds bad, but it must’ve been expensive. Why would you…”  _ Spend that much money on me? _

George’s warm brown eyes studied your face, and he leaned forward, his knee bumping yours as he did. You tried to ignore the sparks that zipped up your leg to your hips. How that small point of contact was driving you so wild was lost on you, but you couldn’t deny that it was. He’d barely been within three feet of you for weeks now; it wasn’t your fault your body was so pathetically desperate for his touch when it was the best thing you’d ever felt. “Because,” George began, his hands tensing and relaxing as if he was trying not to reach out for something, “I wanted to get you something that is almost as breathtaking as you are.”

The leaps that your heart performed in your chest would’ve put the most experienced ballet dancer to shame. Feeling your face flush, you had a hard time finding a response worthy of his words. George truly thought that  _ you _ were comparable to the masterpiece that you wore around your neck? Not even comparable, but that you were even  _ more _ breathtaking than it was. His expression was so earnest, so truthfully anxious that nothing could’ve stopped you from darting forward and capturing his mouth in a kiss that had your eyes fluttering shut before he even reacted. 

It took mere moments for George to return your kiss, moving his lips in the way that you’d been dreaming about more often than was probably healthy. He tasted sweet, addictingly so, and you wondered how you had gone this long without kissing him when it felt this magnificent. Your heart swelled as if it were an orchestra playing the final measures of a symphony All throughout your body, it seemed that your very bones were singing with the pure and complete rightness of having George’s lips slotted between your own. 

George’s hand was hot against your face as he cupped the side of it so gently it was as if he were touching something priceless and extremely fragile. A flick of his tongue against your mouth had you sighing, parting your lips eagerly as George deepened the kiss. It was sweet, chaste, at first, with the tentative shyness of a first kiss, but in your chest, just behind your breastbone, there was a pull, something much deeper than a simple show of affection. 

His mouth turned fervent, desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. You knew the feeling all too well, and you curled your hand around the back of his neck, feeling the gentle curls of red hair that lived at the nape of his neck, and tugged him closer. His knees knocked against yours as he turned his body entirely to face you, slotting one leg between yours so that he was as close as he could possibly be while the two of you were still sitting in separate chairs. Every inch of you called out to him, as if you were unable to exist much longer without the feel of his skin against yours. 

It was as if you were hyper aware of every breath, every movement and sound, and it was so  _ good _ , like you’d been wandering in a desert for days and you’d finally stumbled across an oasis of cool, clear water. But it wasn’t enough, not even close. Not touching him for days had been awful, but it was even more painful now to only have his hand on your face, his lips on yours, and the soft press of his thigh against your kneecap. Your mind was shouting  _ more, more, more _ , even though his mouth was making your head dizzy and heat was burning low in your stomach, spreading out to your hips and between your thighs. 

The scrape of a chair on stone shocked you back into the present, bitterly reminding you that you were in the middle of the library. Disconnecting your lips from George’s with a soft and despondent sigh that you would absolutely be embarrassed about once your wits returned, you dropped your hand from his hair. George kept his hand on the side of your face, which was good, because if you’d had to lose all points of contact with him so suddenly, you honestly thought you might’ve broken apart. 

Both of you were panting slightly, which did nothing to quench the burning want that had settled in the space right above your hips. It made you think of other things, of other times with George that might leave him breathless and panting and-- you willed yourself to stop that line of thinking before it became too much for you to handle. Already, the sight of George’s mouth, a bit red and swollen, was making it nearly impossible to think. 

“Fuck,” George whispered, so softly that it nearly blended in with the sound of soft rustling of pages being turned that filled the library. 

“Sorry,” you told him, though you couldn’t remember a time when you’d been less sorry about anything in your entire life. “I didn’t mean to just-”

George sent you a look that made your previous level of desire seem like nothing at all compared to how thoroughly his eyes, dark with want, absolutely soaked your knickers. “If you ever apologize for kissing me, especially like  _ that _ , I might just have to curse you.” Blood rushed to your face and you nodded, unable to form words yet again. “You have no bloody idea how,” George let out a tight, strained breath, “how much I’ve been thinking about you, about  _ that _ . You’ve been driving me fucking insane, Scales. I mean, fuck, it’s like...it’s like I’ve been craving you.”

“Every time I saw you, it took so much for me to walk past you, to pretend like even just seeing you smile wasn’t making my legs weak,” you confessed. What was the harm in telling the truth now? 

More than that, though, you didn’t feel the need to lie. That kiss coupled with his confession seemed to have decimated the defensive walls you used to throw up around yourself whenever George was around. Something seemed to have clicked, slid into place, and you no longer felt quite as terrified at the prospect of being real with George.

“Seeing you with…”  _ other girls _ “laughing, smiling, joking, it felt like I was so violently on the outside of something I wanted nothing more than to be a part of.” You chewed your lower lip. “It’s felt like that well before we kissed the first time, I think.”

“Jealous, Scales?” George teased with a faint smirk, and you had to blink once, very slowly, to clear the foggy haze of lust that settled over your brain. 

“It’s stupid, I know,” you admitted. “But for the longest time, I’d see you joking and having fun with everyone else but me, and it...I don’t think hurt is the right word, because I didn’t care enough for it to hurt, but it bothered me.” You didn’t know quite what was prompting this confession. Perhaps it was the sudden realization that feelings that were previously thought to be unrequited weren’t so one-sided after all. “You know, ‘why is he always so happy around everyone but me?’”

George’s eyes softened, and the look was enough to make you want to lean forward and drag him into another earth-shattering kiss. “Right. That.” He dropped the hand from your face, and the sudden cold that met your skin made you shiver. “I’d be lying if I said I never disliked you. For the longest time, I did. Chalk it up to stupid House rivalries and not being mature enough to get over it,” George said with a small laugh. “It’s changed, though, in case you weren’t sure.”

“I wasn’t,” you told him honestly. “Until about five minutes ago, I was sure you still rather detested me. You’ve barely spoken to me, let alone look at me, since the start of term. The way we left things during Christmas didn’t really comfort me much.” 

Wincing, George bit the inside of his lower lip. “I was a bit of an arse, wasn’t I?”

“Massive,” you agreed, but you let the corner of your mouth tilt into a smile that told George you weren’t upset. “You’re a confusing bloke, George Weasley.” 

“It’s part of my charm,” he joked. You let out a laugh, doing your best to keep your volume low lest Madam Pince was on the prowl. It was a difficult task, though, because when George wasn’t making you feel like you were going mad with irritation, he made you feel as if you’d not known true, real, joyous humor until you’d met him. “I like talking to you like this, you know. I know most of our time this year has been spent doing other things,”-- the mention of which caused your stomach to dip pleasantly and your thighs to twitch inward for just a moment-- “so we haven’t really talked, but hearing and watching you talk to others is...well, like you said. Makes me feel like I’m on the outside of something I’d much rather be a part of.” 

The twang of joy that vibrated in your chest made it hard to conceal the smile that spread across your still slightly-red lips. “I think we’ve got a lot to talk about, then,” you said tentatively. It was phrased as a simple sentence, but there was an unspoken question in there, as if you were waiting for his confirmation that there was indeed something to talk about at all.

George’s eyes darted to the window, where the sun was just touching the tops of the green hills that spread across the horizon. “Shit. Detention,” he said by way of explanation. “I’ve got to go, but don’t think we won’t continue this.” The promise sparkling in his eyes caused a second heartbeat to erupt between your legs as his gaze caught on your mouth. 

“You’ll have to fill me in later on whatever dastardly tale led you to getting detention this time.”

“Oh, it’s quite the story. Perhaps on the next Hogsmeade weekend?” George asked, but before you could respond, he was gone, walking in those long strides of his out of the library. The longing stare that trailed after him coming from you should’ve been mortifying, but all you could think about was the hot tingle of the ghost of his lips on yours.

Merlin, you were in trouble, weren’t you? The kind of trouble that thrilled you, that pulled you in for more. The kind of trouble that was certainly going to ruin you and you’d thank it for doing so. 

~

Walking back to the common room, you felt like you were in some sort of haze. Everything seemed a bit warmer, the lights a bit brighter, and you? Well, you felt less on edge, less like you were liable to snap at the first sign of frustration. George had asked you if it would matter to you who the necklace came from, and until he’d confessed to you that he gave it to you, your answer of no had been honest. 

That answer was no longer true, for knowing it was from George made the silver seem to gleam more, made you touch it with far more reverence and awe than you had before. Briar and Eva had been dead set on it being from George, and though your heart had screamed at your brain to believe them, your mind had won out in the end, telling yourself it was unlikely even in the best case scenario. Now, each beat of your heart seemed to be saying,  _ told you so, told you so, told you so _ . 

Entering the Slytherin common room, you knew you had a goofy, wide grin plastered on your face, but you couldn’t help it. Briar, Eva, and Bram were sitting on the plush black couches, talking quietly between themselves. As you walked up, their conversation lulled quickly enough that at any other time, it would’ve raised suspicion. As things were, you were far too-- merlin, you were  _ smitten _ , weren’t you? 

Even if you hadn’t heard their hushed words, you could clearly see the worry that each of them wore, Briar’s face more pinched and pale than Eva and Bram. Eva was the first to notice the way you more carefully held your necklace between your fingertips and the slight blush still dusting your cheeks. “You found out who gave the necklace to you?” she asked, her brows shooting up with pleased surprise. The first few words were stiff, as if she had to ease her way back into being her usually bright self. 

“Ah, yeah,” you admitted, unable to shake the feeling of excitement that had been coursing through your veins since the library. “I’ll give you two guesses-”

“It was George, wasn’t it?” Eva laughed brightly. “Gods, it totally was! I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Wait, George Weasley?” Bram asked. You realized just then that Bram had been absent a lot lately-- or at least you’d hadn’t seen him very much. A nod of your head confirmed his question, and Bram sat back on the couch. “Huh.”

“What?” A defensive edge lined your voice, curling around the image of George in your head as you watched Bram’s shoulder stiffen almost imperceptibly. 

Bram shrugged, studying the necklace that hung around your neck. “Since when did the two of you get close enough for him to give you something like that?” 

“It’s...we’re not close,” you told him, though you weren’t sure  _ what _ you and George were. “It was a Christmas gift, that’s all.” There was something in the hard set of Bram’s face that made you not want to go into the details of what had happened between you and George that Bram didn’t already know. 

“I’m just surprised. George has always been a dick to you,” Bram explained. “Didn’t know things had changed. I don’t really see the point of spending time with someone who’s never been very nice at all to you, you know.”

“Things have changed,” you said stiffly. “You’ve barely been around enough this year to notice, anyway.”

Eva and Briar winced at that, but you ignored them. Bram, however, latched onto your accusation and ran with it. “I haven’t been around because school’s a bit of a waste now, isn’t it? I’ve got better things to do.”

“Oh, really? Like what?” 

Bram looked at you haughtily. “You would know if you ever hung out with your own instead of always running around with Gryffindors. Things are changing, you know. It’s...going to be best to make sure you’re on the right side.”

A curling tendril of disbelief threaded through your words. “The right side?” You had a feeling, something twisting and sour in your gut, that you and Bram had differing opinions on what the right side was. Bram had always been the most traditional out of the five of you, but until now, it had never really affected anything. 

“That’s right. You spend so much time with people like the Weasleys that it doesn’t surprise me to hear that your view might be a bit twisted,” Bram informed you. “You’re still a Slytherin and a Pureblood, no matter how much time you spend with people different from you. You’d do well not to forget that.” No malice underlined his words, and yet, they still sat uneasily in the air that hung between you and him.

“I haven’t bloody forgotten what I am, Bram. What’s gotten into you? Why are you talking like this all of the sudden?” It was starting to concern you, to hear Bram spout something so akin to the blood politics and bigotry you heard from other members of your House. 

“What’s gotten into me? What’s gotten into me is that I realized that things are changing, and I have responsibilities that I can’t ignore. I’m the heir to my entire family name, if you haven’t forgotten. So while you may have the freedom to...to  _ mingle _ with whomever you please, I don’t have that luxury. And quite frankly, I wouldn’t if I could. Some people are simply beneath people like us.” There was little bite to his words, but oddly, that was worse than if there had been. 

You could hardly believe what you were hearing from one of your oldest friends. Bram had always been kind, a bit soft spoken, and he had  _ never _ bought into the bullshit of blood politics. “Merlin, Bram, what the fuck has gotten into you? Can you believe this?” You turned to Eva and Briar, as if imploring them to speak up and help you shake some sense into your friend. 

“Things are changing,” Briar admitted. “All four of us have things that we have to do, you know. You included. You can’t tell me your parents haven’t said anything like this lately.”

They might’ve, if they’d bothered to talk to you beyond the few odd letters here and there since your sixth year had started. “I’m well aware of the responsibilities I bear, thank you very much.” Far too aware, if you were being honest. It had been easy enough to ignore them until now, though. “I may not be the heir to my bloody family name, but that doesn’t mean my parents still don’t have things they expect me to do.” That last part was directed at Bram, and no one else. They’d sat down with you before the start of the year, telling you quite a few things that you’d much prefer to ignore for the time being, if not forever. Forever wasn’t a possibility, though. “And I’ll take care of those things. But that doesn’t mean you can start spewing shit I’d expect to hear from someone like Malfoy, not someone like you.” 

Bram’s mouth thinned into a sharp line. “Maybe... Malfoy hasn’t been entirely wrong about some things.” 

You might’ve found the speed at which your mouth dropped open funny if the situation hadn’t been so terribly, nauseatingly strange. “What, did someone slip you a potion or something? Bram, what the fuck are you even saying? Are your parents feeding you this, or-”

“I’m perfectly capable of thinking for myself,” Bram snapped, standing suddenly. “Doesn’t seem like you are, though. You can’t honestly tell me you believe that people like Granger, people like the Weasleys, who are practically Mudbloods even though they’re part of the sacred twenty-eight, are the same as us?” His words weren’t the worst part; no, it was the way Bram  _ said _ them, as if it were normal, his voice bare of any true animosity. There was only a curious question in his voice, and that caused the sick feeling in your gut to surge up into your throat.

“Okay, Bram, right, apparently you’ve gone completely  _ fucking  _ mental.” It was like you hardly knew the boy standing in front of you, though you’d spent more time with him than most other people in your life, including your parents. “I can’t fucking believe this! Gods, I mean, Hermione is better than all of us, including me, at most forms of magic, and the Weasleys are some of the kindest, most wonderful witches and wizards in all of Britain! You’ve never said shit like this before. Where the hell is this coming from?”

“Maybe I’ve just finally realized that some people were right, and it’s stupid to pretend otherwise,” Bram replied. “Why is this bothering you so much?” You could see that the inquiry was genuine, as if he truly could not understand why his words were digging beneath your skin, lighting white-hot irritation across every inch. 

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as if you could clear Bram’s words from your brain. “You know what, Bram? Fuck off. I’ll talk to you when you’ve pulled your head out of your fucking ass and stop acting like this.”

Bram’s face tightened, lines of betrayal etching themselves into the corners of his eyes and mouth. “You don’t always have to pretend, you know. Not with us,” he told you softly. Your brows knit together with confusion, not able to catch quite what he meant. “You’re different than them, and that’s okay. Learn to embrace it.” 

He made his exit then, after throwing glances at Eva and Briar that you couldn’t decipher. Such an encounter had effectively siphoned the joy and elation you’d previously felt, leaving only hurt bewilderment. “When did Bram start acting like this?”

“Since the holidays ended,” Briar answered, and you noted the sorrow that lined her words. “He...it’s not like Malfoy. He isn’t like Malfoy. It’s just his parents. They’re telling him things, and he believes them. Of course he does.”

Eva placed a hand on Briar’s leg, the touch more intimate than you’d seen exchanged between the two girls before. “Things are changing, he’s right. There’s so much happening. I’m surprised your parents haven’t told you about any of it.” She was looking at you, but you could tell she was somewhere else. “It isn’t just as simple as...as  _ him _ returning. There are things Bram’s parents...mine and Briar’s parents…” 

Seeing Eva so lost for words made unease, oily and vile, settle in you. Trying to find the words to ask what you wanted to know without really asking it took so long that Briar said, her voice thick, “My parents...they’re thinking about...I mean, most of the Pureblood families are. It’s always the same: keep our blood pure. They think…”

“No.” You let out the word in a quiet, scared breath of air. “They can’t...they’re not…”

Briar looked as though she might be sick, blood draining from her face. “Not all of them. Only some so far, but...but every day, there’s more. More joining...him.”

How had your day gone from something that you weren’t entirely sure hadn’t been a beautiful, miraculous dream, to  _ this _ ? To hearing that there were families pledging themselves to Voldemort’s cause, and that some of your friends were a part of those families? “You two- you’re not-”

With complete firmness, both of them shook their heads. “No, we couldn’t even think of it. It...I mean, fuck,” Eva let out a breath, as if that simple action could rid her of all the stress and terror. “Some of the things they’re saying, they’re fucking  _ horrible _ . And it’s not just...it’s not just about keeping bloodlines pure. It’s  _ everything _ .” 

The sheer  _ longing _ in Eva’s eyes as she looked at Briar had me cursing myself that you hadn’t realized it sooner. You should’ve, really. If Eva’s hand on Briar’s leg hadn’t been indication enough, there were now at least ten other instances coming to mind that should’ve tipped you off. “I didn’t realize,” you said gently, keeping it vague enough that they had the choice to acknowledge what you meant or not. 

Briar’s hand slid into Eva’s, and you could see the relieved way her shoulders dropped at the contact. “We would’ve told you. We were going to tell you this weekend, actually,” Briar admitted. “We weren’t keeping a secret because we didn’t trust you. It’s just still so new.”

“I’m not hurt that you kept it quiet,” you assured both of them, and you poured every bit of truth into those words that you could. “I should’ve realized sooner, really. I noticed things had changed this year, but I’ve been...when  _ did _ this happen?”

“Officially, it hasn’t,” Eva said. “I mean, we...we’ve talked about the way we feel. I realized I felt something a little stronger than friendship the same night you kissed George the first time.”

“And when Eva told me her parents told her they were starting to think about finding a boy to start courting her,” the word came out of Briar’s mouth with a wince, “over Christmas the first night we got back, I couldn’t stop myself.” She smiled softly, fondly. “I thought to myself that I had to at least kiss her once before... _ before _ .” The smile dropped from her face as quickly as it had come. 

“It happened right after we exchanged gifts, actually,” Eva confessed. “Honestly, if you’d stuck around for maybe a minute or two more, you might’ve witnessed it yourself.” 

The happiness you’d felt earlier came rushing back, this time accompanied by pure and unfettered affection as you saw how truly  _ right _ the two of them being together was. Thinking about it, you now couldn’t really see how things could’ve gone any differently. You were all close, and you each had a special connection with one another, but there had always been something different about Briar and Eva’s relationship. Something  _ more _ that you had been so incredibly blind to not see until now. “I’m so happy for you two. Truly. It makes sense, you know. The two of you being together. I was surprised at first, but now-”

“Now, it feels like the only possible ending, doesn’t it?” Eva finished for you. “But don’t think this is going to let you distract me from whatever happened between you and George. And don’t tell me nothing happened,” Eva warned. “I saw the blush on your cheeks when you walked in.” 

The butterflies returned in full force as you recounted everything that happened in the library just under an hour ago, including that you’d kissed him and that he’d very possibly asked you to go to Hogsmeade with him. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed when Briar and Eva let out twin squeals of excitement--you were just as bloody excited, if not more. 

“So,” Briar drew out the vowel, flicking her brows suggestively. “What are you going to do?”

Between everything that had happened today, you hadn’t really had a free second to think about it. “I...don’t know. I do know that I can’t ever go that long without kissing him again, though. It was like,  _ gods _ , I don’t even know how to describe it. Like-”

“Like something in you was calling out to him?” Eva suggested, and you nodded, a bit awed that she’d been able to articulate the tangle of emotions you’d felt while kissing George. “Same thing happened to us, actually. From what I’ve read, it’s almost like your magic is calling out to his.”

You let yourself, for the first time since you’d found out the mysterious, addicting boy you’d kissed on Halloween had been George, revel in the feeling of heart-pounding anticipation that always accompanied the way your mind caressed the very thought of him whenever he was brought to mind. 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the sort of delayed upload been having some super fun mental health struggles which have it made hard to yknow do anything but this chapter is a bit longer than usual so hopefully that makes up for it! also oh my god this story hit 10k hits and that is just...so bonkers to me thank you guys for all the support <3

“Dor?” Dorian looked up at you from the textbook he was reading on his bed. You were standing in the doorway of his dormitory, twisting your hands together nervously. An easy smile spread across Dorian’s face as he patted his bed. You walked over, flopping onto the mattress with a heavy sigh. 

“Hey, you. What’s up?” he asked, closing his textbook and tossing it onto the chair of his desk next to his bed. 

Rubbing your face, tired from the night before- studying until two in the morning tended to incite exhaustion- you said, “I had an interesting conversation with Bram the other day.” 

By the way Dorian winced, he probably guessed what it had been about. “I’m assuming it was the same blood purity bullshit he’s been talking to me about since Christmas.”

“Unfortunately. It just...it shocked me, you know? What happened to him over Christmas? Why did he come back all…”

“With his head stuck in his arse?” Dorian sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t know, really. I mean, we’ve known his parents support a lot of the things the people like the Malfoys do, but Dorian’s never parroted that stuff back until now.”

“It just worries me, you know? Like…” you searched for the right way to word what you wanted to say. To correctly convey the unnerving way Bram’s calm words had grated so roughly against your senses. “Like the way that he was talking about Hermione and the Weasleys. As if...as if he’s better than them, somehow. As if _we’re_ better than them, just because of our parents and our House. That’s not Bram. His parents must’ve done something over the holidays to him, right?”

Dorian chewed on his lip. “I don’t know,” he answered hesitantly. “Maybe it is? Maybe he’s always felt that way but it’s never been brought up until now. His parents are nearly as bad as Parkinson’s with some of the shit they say. We’ve been friends with him for so long that maybe we just forgot. He never really talks about his parents, does he? It’s easy to forget who they are.”

Easy to forget that in the first Wizarding war, Bram’s parents had been among the first of Voldemort’s most dedicated followers. They had claimed being cursed, claimed that they had had no control over their actions. Those who knew them during those years argued that they had acted entirely of their own free will. The only reason they weren’t in Azkaban along with the rest of Voldemort’s inner circle was the fact that they’d sold most of those now-prisoners out to the Ministry. 

You had a vague idea of the actual extent of their involvement; Pureblood society feasted on rumors and stories, and your parents had relayed many of the stories they knew about Bram’s parents to you over the years. Your own parents weren’t involved in the war, not in the way Bram’s were. It was hard, though, not to wonder if they were telling you the truth, or if they were leaving out unsavory details that would sully the family name. They were good people, when they wanted to be, but you knew where many of the Pureblood families stood both in the first war and now. 

“Yeah, but…” The way that Bram had spoken to you had left your stomach in nauseating knots for days. “You should’ve heard him, Dor. He wasn’t even angry or bitter. It was like he was talking about something as simple as the weather or homework. That was the worst part. It was like he didn’t even see how wrong the things he was saying were.”

“Maybe he doesn’t think they’re wrong at all,” Dorian pointed out. “I mean, his parents have been spewing that shit since before he was born, and Bram doesn’t spend time with the other Houses like we do. Haven’t you noticed that? You, Briar, Eva, me; we all have friends in different Houses. Bram doesn’t.” 

You’d never thought about it, but now that Dorian brought it up, he was right. You rarely saw Bram outside of the dungeons unless it was for class. He didn’t talk to other Houses, even if he had classes with them. You had always chalked it up to him being shy, but now, you weren’t sure at all. 

“Well, what do we do, then?”

Dorian looked at you, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you do about Bram? How can we help him?” There had to be some way, surely, to show him that what his parents were telling him was wrong, didn’t there? 

Dorian’s face hardened, his brows knitting together. “I don’t know. I don’t know if we can. You heard him. He’s entirely sure that what he thinks is right. What good can we do?” 

“What good can we do? We’re his _friends_ , Dor. It’s our responsibility to point out to him when he’s got his head up his arse and help him fix it.”

“Maybe it isn’t our place.”

Your jaw dropped. “Not our place? It’s definitely our place to stop our friend from becoming like fucking Malfoy! Like his fucking parents!” 

Dorian shook his head, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know.” The hollow look in his eyes made you shift uneasily. “He’s already...did he not tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Anxiety sparked in your chest as you looked at Dorian, waiting for him to tell you what Bram hadn’t. 

“His parents... they want him to be marked when he turns seventeen. Bram told me just a few days ago. He didn’t seem too excited about it, but he didn’t seem against it, either,” Dorian confessed to you, his voice dipping lower even though there was no one else in the room. “He told me they didn’t even want him coming back after Christmas, because they didn’t see the point.”

Anxiety exploded into dread, ripping at your throat and lungs. “Marked? No. There’s no way. How...they’re already planning to mark people again? I thought-”

“With...with _him_ back now, they’ve started. I know I-I didn’t believe you before, when Harry said he saw him, but…” A shaky breath in and out. “Bram said his parents saw him. They had a meeting.”

“By they, you mean-” Dorian nodded when you found yourself unable to finish the sentence. “Shit. Fuck, that’s bad. That’s...that’s really, really bad. And they’re letting _kids_ get marked now?”

“He won’t be a kid, technically. It’ll be the day after he turns seventeen,” Dorian said sadly. Your heart wrenched painfully as you watched the anguish bloom in Dorian’s eyes. “They need all the people they can get. They wouldn’t give a shit if Dorian wasn’t considered a legal adult when they marked him. I’m pretty sure it was Dorian or his parents that insisted they wait until he was seventeen.”

For as horrified and hurt as you felt, Dorian must have been feeling those things a thousand times stronger. Bram and him were as close as Harry and Ron were; they considered each other brothers. “We’ve got to stop it, then, right? Bram’s birthday isn’t until May. We have months to find a way to do _something_.”

Sorrowful resignation was written across Dorian’s face, his eyes lowered. “You know there isn’t. Not without Bram or his parents getting hurt. Or worse.” 

You did know that, but hearing Dorian say it out loud made it hit you that much harder. “Fuck,” you whispered softly, wrapping your arm around Dorian. 

Dorian, who normally was not one for physical affection, leaned into you as if he was trying to block everything else out. A tight knot was starting to wind itself around your throat, making it thick with tears. “It’s going to be okay,” you told him, but even you didn’t believe that. 

“How could I have- I’m supposed to be his best friend,” Dorian stuttered. There was so much anger in his voice, anger at himself, that you tugged him closer, as if that would somehow fix anything. “I’m supposed to be there for him, but I let this happen. How could I let him get this far without doing anything about it?” 

Wrapping your other arm around Dorian, beginning to rub slow circles onto his back, you argued, “It isn’t your fault, Dor. You’re a wonderful friend. This...none of this is your fault. If you want to go that route, we all could’ve done more. Should’ve done more. You can’t blame yourself. Nothing has even happened yet.”

“No, but it will, and I can’t do a single fucking thing to stop it. Bram won’t even listen to me when I try to tell him that what his parents say isn’t right. He just changes the topic, or ignores me altogether.” 

“People make their own choices. We can’t stop them, no matter how badly we want to,” you lamented. “I know it hurts. Things are so fucking weird and uncertain now and it’s starting to really worry me. I don’t know what’s going to happen.” 

Dorian pulled away from you, and you caught a stray sniffle as he turned away from you for a moment. “I want to help. I want to...I want to do something about all of the shit that’s going on. Don’t you? We can’t just sit here and let it happen. But what the hell can we even fucking do? Even things here are affected by what’s going on out there,” Dorian ranted, gesturing to the window and the rolling green hills that lay beyond it. 

“You want to help?” You knew it would be best to check with Harry first, but you trusted Dorian and would vouch for him if anyone had any arguments against him. Harry wouldn’t be the problem, though. It was everyone else in the D.A. But you couldn’t stand the pain, and helplessness in your friend’s voice, so when Dorian nodded, you said, “You have to swear you won’t tell anyone.” 

~

“What is another _snake_ doing here?” A Ravenclaw you had forgotten the name of hissed as you and Dorian walked into his first D.A. meeting. Her words were met with a glare from you, and she shrunk back, muttering something to her friend as her face twisted bitterly. 

Dorian didn’t seem bothered, but he leaned over to you to mumble, “I thought it was okay for me to be here.”

“It is,” you reassured him. “Harry said that as long as I can promise you won’t go running your mouth, even to Briar and Eva, that it’s alright if you come to the meetings. You’ll have to sign your name onto the list of members before we get started. And,” you looked around, then lowered your voice. “I’m not supposed to mention it, but it’s hexed. If you say anything about these meetings to anyone not in the D.A., everyone will know right away.” 

Dorian grimaced. “That was Granger’s work, wasn’t it?”

“She’s better at hexes than anyone. Of course it was,” you answered. 

You brought Dorian up to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were chatting as everyone trickled in. Dorian looked entirely confident, but you knew he was a bit nervous about being there. “You know Harry, Ron, and Hermione, yes?” 

Dorian nodded, smiling at them. “Of course I do.”

“Do you mind if we introduce you before the meeting starts? We do it any time a new member joins,” Harry asked Dorian. He nodded and Harry waited for the final students to arrive before calling out, “Alright, listen up! We’ve got a new member joining us today!” 

As you expected, whispers and jeers rose up as everyone saw the silver and green on Dorian’s tie. Dorian’s face was still, untelling, and you were rather impressed. You had a hard time keeping your expression so uncaring whenever one of the other members decided to be an arse to you for no reason other than your House.

“Another bloody Slytherin? Merlin, at this point, we might as well just invite Umbridge into the D.A. too!” someone called out. It was hard to tell who it was, but you stood a little straighter, doing your best to match the cool expression that Dorian wore. 

“Dorian, like everyone else in this room, wants to help fight back. Not just against Umbridge, but against everything Voldemort is doing,” you told the crowd firmly. A ripple of winces danced across the room at the sound of you saying Voldemort’s name, but you had long since gotten over being afraid of calling him by it. “Why does it matter what House he’s from?” 

“It’s bad enough having you here,” a Hufflepuff sneered. “I can barely handle one of you. Two is just fucking asking to be ratted out.” 

This time, Ron spoke up. “If you’re going to speak like that, you’re welcome to walk yourself the hell out of here and not return. You’re all welcome to your own opinions about all of the Houses, but all of you are bloody well aware that she is one of the two reasons our father is still alive,” Ron snapped, gesturing to Fred, George, and Ginny, who all stood together a few feet away. Not letting yourself look at George to see his reaction to that statement felt like forcing the wind not to blow, but you managed it. “The other reason was Harry. She’s also the one who came up with most of the idea for Dumbledore’s Army. That should fucking mean something to all of you. It also should mean that if she says Dorian is okay, then he’s okay.” 

“You can’t seriously expect us to trust him,” Seamus called out. “I mean, we trust Scales, but she’s your best friend, so we don’t have much of a choice in putting up with her. We don’t have to put up with this git.” 

“Dorian is bloody brilliant at Charms, and at defensive spells, Seamus,” Harry stated. “You all could learn a lot from him. Besides, part of the point of fighting back against Umbridge and Voldemort is so we don’t have to put up with prejudice and so that the Slytherins have a choice in what they fight for. They deserve the chance to pick their side, which is the same chance the rest of us got. You don’t have to like it, but you have to put up with it. If you aren’t willing to put aside stupid House prejudices, you know where the door is.” Harry scanned the crowd, as if daring anyone to move. No one did, and you felt Dorian let out a miniscule sigh of relief as everyone silently and begrudgingly accepted it. “Right then. Let’s get started, shall we?” 

Everyone spread out, taking the same spots they had since the first meeting. Today was another defensive spell day. It wasn’t dueling, not really; it was more of a chance to perfect casting the spells on an easy target. The Room of Requirement usually provided the group with a multitude of pads and mattresses to land on, which you were incredibly grateful for, because being tossed around by magic for a few hours tended to leave you bruised, tired, and aching. 

You hadn’t thought about how much more difficult it would be to focus with George practicing right next to you, but as him and Fred picked the bit of space to your left, you felt your heart jump into your throat. Since the library, you’d only seen George once in passing, but you had thought about him nearly every spare moment you had. 

As he walked over, he tossed an languid smile your way, one that had your breath hitching in your throat and that coil of heat awakening in your belly. You returned his attention with a smile of your own, trying to convey as much confidence and casualness into your own that had been present in his, but you knew it fell short by the amused glimmer in George’s eyes. George took his place across from his brother, turning away from you and leaving you to try and tamp down on the desire that thrummed through your veins. 

You had to force yourself to pay attention to Dorian, who was standing across from you, a curious expression on his face. Shaking your head to dismiss his silent question at the very interesting interaction between you and George, you pulled your wand out. Dorian raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press further. 

Harry’s claim that Dorian was excellent at defensive spells was proven quickly enough; his speed and accuracy had you panting for breath within twenty minutes. It was almost like a dance, one that many of the members stopped to watch for moments at a time. You and Dorian were grinning at each other throughout it all, an elation present in you that you’d been missing for a while. It wasn’t that you forgot how much you enjoyed spending time with Dorian, it had just been such a long time since the two of you had been able to mess around like you were. 

When Harry called out for a break, you and Dorian dropped your wands, grinning at one another. “Nice work, Dor,” you told him. “Almost made me break a sweat!” 

Dorian threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, shove it. I saw your face! You were getting worried towards the end there.” 

“Me? Worried? Never,” you replied confidently. “If you want to talk about worried, let’s talk about the way your face dropped when I hit you with that Levicorpus.”

Throwing an arm around your shoulder, Dorian shrugged. “What can I say, you’re just that bloody good.” 

“Hey, Scales,” George said as the two of you walked over to where the Room had set out water for the D.A. to drink. “Dorian, right?” 

Your heart leapt an embarrassing height as George’s voice met your ears. “Yeah, he’s in my year. We’ve been friends since first year.” On the outside, you seemed unbothered (or hoped you did) but inside, your mind was scrambling to grab ahold of the fact that George had approached you, had greeted you first, entirely of his own volition. 

Ignoring how pathetic it felt to be so excited by such a small thing was easy when you felt the familiar brush of George’s warm amber eyes on your skin. 

George’s eyes seemed to linger on the arm Dorian had draped around you, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn jealousy flashed in his eyes. It did something fluttery and wonderful to your stomach, made that coil of heat burn hotter for just a moment. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Dorian said with a pleasant tone. “You’re one of Ron’s brothers, right?”

“I think that’s my least favorite thing someone has ever called me,” George groaned, making you snort lightly. “But yes. I’m George.” 

Dorian looked at you, and the glint in his eye told you you were not going to like what was about to come out of his mouth. “Ah, the guy you’ve had so much fun with this year.” 

If you could’ve punched him without anyone else seeing, you would’ve. As it was, that would’ve been a bit too obvious for your taste, so you settled on digging your fingers sharply into his side. Meeting George’s gaze was a bad idea, because there was a mix of humor and... _want_ \- that’s what it was, wasn’t it?- there that had you swallowing roughly. 

“You could say that,” George responded for you, clearly amused by the new moniker. “Seems Scales just can’t keep away from me.” 

Dorian barked out a laugh. “I’ll admit it, I’ve not met very many Gryffindors I care for very much. But you? You aren’t half bad.” 

George grinned handsomely, then turned to you. “That wasn’t terrible spellwork you were doing back there. I’m a bit impressed to tell you the truth.”

“Don’t act so surprised,” you replied, amazed that you were able to keep your voice steady while your heart was beating so hard it might’ve been bruising your rib cage. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me do magic before.” 

“I’m not surprised. It was a compliment,” George said simply. “I am capable of those, you know.” 

“Occasionally, and very rarely towards me.” You weren’t trying to argue; it was just so easy to slip back into that defensive state around George. His behaviour had changed, yes, but you’d spent years throwing your guard up around him at anything he said that had the possibility of sounding like he was making fun of you. 

Something unreadable passed over George’s face. “Things change, don’t they?” The necklace around your neck suddenly felt hot against your skin. 

You managed to nod, and George studied you for a moment more before nodding a goodbye to Dorian and setting back off towards Fred and Angelina. Dorian set his cup down, leveling a look at you that had you wanting to curl up under the table. 

“I finally understand the term ‘eye-fucking’ now, I think.”

“Shut up.”

~

George had asked you- had he?- to go to Hogsmeade with him on the next excursion down there, but that was a few weeks away, and you were already beginning to feel that familiar itch of longing that you now knew was a result of being too far from George for too long. Your body seemed to be marking each minute that passed since kissing him, each one more noticeable than the last. 

Eva saying that your magic was calling out to his had seemed incredibly sweet at the time, but now? Now it was making you irritated. Now it was making you wonder why George didn’t seem to be feeling the same. Making you wonder why he hadn’t sought you out in the few days since the last D.A. meeting. Such singular focus on something for so long was an anomaly for you; you tended not to dwell on feelings, to be able to divert your thoughts to something else. With any other person, it had been easy- you didn’t have to try at all. 

With George, it was as if you were trying to change the course of a roaring river that had carved the same path through the earth for years and years. The conversation in the library had created a golden feeling of ecstasy, but that feeling had turned withered and dark and sour with every day that passed that did not bring a new interaction with George. 

What was wrong with you? This had never happened to you before; no one had ever made you feel so incredibly confused and like you were floating or out of place when they weren’t around. 

You had noticed- with no small amount of satisfaction- that whenever you saw George in the corridors, or in the Great Hall, or while you were studying in the Gryffindor common room, that Khaleia was never around. That didn’t mean he’d stopped spending time with her, you tried to tell yourself, but it didn’t matter. As far as you knew, George wasn’t seeing anyone else. The two of you had no relationship, at least not one defined with any certain terms, but it made you smile a little wider every time you saw George without Khaleia with him. 

It was no different when you spotted George entering the Gryffindor common room that night, music filling the air and strong drinks being shoved into people’s hands the moment they walked in the door. Parties in the Gryffindor common room weren’t rare, not really, but this was the first they’d had since the new year. Needless to say, you were excited. 

There was so much weighing on your mind that a distraction, a night of hazy dancing and laughing and stumbling, was sorely needed. Being surrounded by other students, talking about things that were stupid and meaningless and immature felt like a breath of fresh air compared to everything that had been going on lately.

That breath was stolen the moment George walked in, his red hair soft and slightly curling at the ends, his pale skin offset by a charcoal sweater that seemed to hug the firm planes of his chest and stomach so perfectly it had to have been made with his body in mind. You felt a tug in your stomach, like your body was calling out to his. He looked like he normally did, wasn’t wearing anything you hadn’t seen him wear before, but there was something entirely different about his presence. 

He looked _good_ and as you watched him greet his friends, you could see that you weren’t the only person in the room who thought so. A surge of bitterness ripped through you at the sight of a girl taking a long, slow look at George’s frame. He wasn’t yours, of course, but your body didn’t know that. A large part of you longed to go over to him, wrap your arms around his neck, and press a kiss to his mouth that would shout, entirely and irrevocably, that he was _yours_. Desire danced down your spine, landing low and hot in your hips, as you thought about how that would feel. How it would feel to so publicly declare that George was no longer available. 

Where this possessiveness came from you had absolutely no idea, but you would be lying if you said you were trying to fight it. It was foolish to think that George would ever be entirely yours, but what harm was it to dream? 

It was hard to forget that the last two times you’d consumed alcohol, you’d ended up pressed against George, his hands in your hand, skimming over your body, and his mouth on yours in a feverish, lust-filled display of affection. You let yourself admit you hoped this night ended up much the same, but that was as far as you would go. The pleasant warmth of intoxication was beginning to wash over you, letting you stare at George more unashamedly than you would ever let yourself do when sober.

Eva and Briar weren’t at this party (they were on a date) and Dorian had been invited, but he’d declined in order to study with Bram. You knew he wasn’t interested in studying, but in spending time with Bram and trying to help him. Dorian had declined your offer to join them, telling you that he needed to talk to Bram alone. So you were the lone Slytherin in a sea of red, yellow, and blue, but you didn’t mind. And it didn’t seem anyone else really minded either, not with drinks in hand and smoke floating through the air. 

You certainly didn’t mind when Hermione handed you a new drink, one of the sweeter ones that you and her had a particular affinity for, then said, “Ron said a few of them are going up to his dorm to smoke. Let’s go!” 

Grinning, you followed her up to the boys dormitory, where Ron, Harry, Luna, Neville, and Lee Jordan were sitting on pillows on the floor. Luna was already beginning to roll the thin paper up, the middle filled with something that either she or Neville had grown presumably. It wasn’t often that you smoked, but when it was supplied by Luna or Neville, it was insane to pass it up. 

Settling down on the ground, you set your drink next to you as Luna lit the joint with the tip of her wand. She took a deep inhale, the heavy, spiced scent already starting to fill the room. Blowing out a thick cloud of smoke, she handed it to Neville, who took a similar hit, before passing it on as well. When it reached you, you lifted it to your mouth and the smoke poured into your mouth and lungs, slightly sweet and thick. It was a sensation you had hated the first time you’d tried it, but now, you quite enjoyed the way it brushed your throat. The joint barely made it around the circle before footsteps came bounding up the stairs, a thundering prelude to Fred and George entering the dorm. Even in your crossed state, your heart picked up at the sight of George. 

“There you are, you bloody git!” Fred cried, pointing accusingly at Lee, the joint still hanging between his fingers. 

“Oi, what did I do?” Lee asked, taking a slow drag. 

“You left George and I alone with those bloody Hufflepuff girls, first of all, and secondly, you left to _smoke_ and you didn’t even bother to tell us! Some bloody friend you are,” George said, narrowing his eyes at Lee. 

Lee shrugged, and Luna looked up at the twins. “There’s plenty to go around. I can roll another one up,” she said, her voice made even dreamier by the smoke. 

Fred and George joined the group on the ground, sitting across from you. You felt wonderfully hazy, the drug allowing you to unabashedly let your eyes trail over George’s broad shoulders, the column of his neck, the slope of his nose. Even when your eyes travelled up to see George looking at you, your lack of sobriety made it impossible for you to feel embarrassed. 

“Do you want me to roll this one?” George offered Luna. 

Luna replied, “Sure, if you’d like,” as she handed over the paper and the tin of ground up green. 

George took it from her, setting the tin on the ground. He lifted one edge of the paper to his lips, and seeing that you were still watching him intently, met your gaze as he licked a slow stripe across the paper. A rush of desire, so heady and strong that it surprised even you, flooded you, flooded the space between your thighs. The moment lasted barely two seconds, but in those two seconds, you had felt want so strong it made your head spin. 

He rolled the paper up, packing spice into the empty space, then sealed off the end of the joint. As tradition had it, the roller got first hit, so George placed it between his lips, lighting it, and took an inhale that could’ve matched Luna’s. It wasn’t your first time seeing someone smoke; it wasn’t even the first person you’d seen that night, but when George did it…

When George did it, it was as if you’d never seen something so captivating, so confusingly attractive. The curve of his lips around the joint had you wanting to pull it from his mouth and replace it with your own. The relaxed way he held the joint between two fingers as he finished his drag had you wishing those fingers were touching you instead. And when the white smoke curled out of his mouth as he handed off the joint to Fred, you had to force yourself to remember to breathe. 

You knew George knew you had been watching him. You wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the circle had seen you practically drooling over him, but it was hard to care when George looked at you, a lazy grin spreading across his face. It was that very look that had you deciding that if you didn’t get to kiss him tonight, you might just lose it entirely. 


End file.
